SNAFU
by DarthGabithaTheHutt
Summary: Between the disappearances, the deaths and, oh, yes, the demons, not to mention the beginning of some evil plan to end the world, their lives were never going to be quite so easy again. Set in Series one. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Between the disappearances, the deaths and, oh, yes, the demons, not to mention the beginning of some evil plan to end the world, their lives were never going to be quite so easy again.

AN: This is the first chapter of an ongoing story called SNAFU (Situation Normal, All Fucked Up). I hope to add one chapter a week, real life allowing. The chapters are tags, extra scenes and other moments in Series One which were not shown on screen and depict the lives of the Winchesters and their allies from October 2005 to October 2006.

Sara Lucian and the Atwood brothers are characters from my series of Supernatural stories. Reading those is probably not essential.

Reviews are hugely appreciated. This story is an experiment for me and I'd love any comments, constructive criticism or advice anyone would like to give.

xxx  
New Orleans, Louisiana,  
27th October, 2005

"I have come to the firm conclusion that voodoo sucks," Dean said, flopping backwards onto yet another motel bed. At least this one wasn't stained in an assortment of suspicious colours. "Those creepy little dolls? Completely unnecessary. And the whole zombie thing…"

"Those weren't zombies," came the reply from the bathroom. "They were manifest spirits. No reanimation of dead flesh, no desire to eat brains and a hell of a lot easier to get rid of!"

"They still sucked." Dean glanced over as Sara Lucian, his best friend and hunting partner, came out of the bathroom looking thoroughly exasperated.

"As always, your ability to state the blindingly obvious warms my heart," Sara said, rolling her eyes.

Dean grinned. Nobody else had such a way with insults. "Pizza came while you were plucking your eyebrows."

"I don't pluck my eyebrows. Ooh, ham and mushroom." Through a mouthful of pizza, she kept talking. "You heard anything from Papa Winchester?"

Dean shook his head, losing the grin. "He's probably just busy. Moved on, found another gig, something like that."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Sara agreed. "He'll turn up, Dean. Your dad's only a bastard to people he's not related to, remember?"

"Did you ever work out what the spat with Bobby Singer was about?"

"Apart from that it ended with a shotgun being cocked? Nope, not a thing. I asked, but Bobby just told me not to worry my pretty little head about it." Sara shrugged.

"Well, after three years, I guess people have finally figured out that you tell me everything." Dean grinned at the look Sara gave him, part annoyance and part fond exasperation. "Three weeks on the same job, that's… That's a little weird, right?"

Sara followed the change of topic easily, the result of too long spent with Dean. "Not necessarily. We spent two weeks on that cursed object thing in Texas only a few months back, not to mention that twenty-year-long quest for revenge you and your father have. Besides, we haven't spotted any more suspicious deaths in that part of Cali and nor has Will, so you're probably right."

"He's just moved on," Dean said and nodded, as if that would make him any more convinced. A lifetime of hunting gave you good instincts and he just couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.

But Sara was looking at him worriedly, so he managed to smile. It didn't convince her for a second, he knew, but there were… formalities. Or at least, that would be how Sara put it. It was just the way they always did things.

xxx

The girl was screaming. Good. 

Humans hands were so imprecise at this sort of work, but the shiny knife from the kitchen was more than good enough to carefully slice open the boy's stomach until the floor was covered in slick blood and his intestines were open to the air. 

Hm. Boring now. But the girl… 

Sara sat bolt upright, narrowly avoiding falling off the bench.

"You know, that's the third time you've done that in the last fortnight."

She turned to glare at Dean, who was standing in the doorway, looking like he was just innocently enjoying the sun on his face. It didn't convince her for a moment. "Shut up."

"Just saying-"

"Unless you're saying that you brought me tea, I'm not listening." She slid off the bench to sit on the decking.

He rolled his eyes, handed over the overlarge mug and sat down on the deck's railing. "This place is nice in the autumn. Peaceful."

"That's only 'cause Adrian isn't at home," Sara said. "God, Dean, you're the only American I ever met who can make tea properly."

"I'm the only guy in America who can put too much sugar to be healthy in your tea?"

"It is a rare gift. How's Will getting on with that message from your dad?"

"He agrees that there's EVP on it, but it's too mangled to make out at the moment. He's working on it."

"So why are you out here on the deck rather than bugging him in the basement?"

"Because he hit me with his cane."

Sara grinned. After a seriously disturbing message from John and a frantic drive from New Orleans back to Black Earth, she felt a little like that herself. They really needed to get their hands on some more portable technology.

Dean leant over to nudge her. "When are we going to talk about this? These nightmares since that last exorcism, all bad enough to leave you seriously freaked out."

"They're just nightmares. Just… Just my warped mind sorting out a kink or two." Sara shrugged. "Normal nightmares."

"But they scare you."

"Yeah, that kinda the point of nightmares." Sara put the mug of tea down, staring at it. "You ever had that dream where the monster's doing terrible things and you can't stop it?"

"Yeah."

"You ever had the one where you're the monster?"

A clang from the kitchen had them both stumbling to their feet before Dean could answer.

"Will?" Sara said, pulling open the door to the kitchen. "You okay, man?"

Will Atwood was a computer genius, an ex-Hunter only two years older than Dean who had been crippled in a hunt gone seriously wrong. He was also currently hopping around his own kitchen.

"Banged my leg." Another hop, narrowly missing the bin. "Oh, I hate those stairs."

"So, next time, don't build your supercomputer in the basement," Dean said.

"Bite me, Winchester." Will stopped hopping, steadying himself, and threw a small cassette-player on the counter. "There's your precious EVP. John's not showing up in any police reports, hospital reports or any other kind of report I could find. Have fun."

He walked past the pair of them, his cane clicking on the wooden floor.

Dean picked up the cassette-player, hitting the play button. There was no point talking to Will when he was in that sort of mood.

"I can never go home."

"What the hell does that mean?" Sara said, leaning forward.

"No idea. But maybe if we go to Jericho, we can figure it out and find my Dad." He paused. "How long does it take to get from here to Jericho?"

"Uh… thirty hours? Maybe a bit less, the way you drive." She turned away, starting to stack dishes in the sink. "Wouldn't take much longer to get to Stanford."

"What?"

"Well, I was just thinking…"

"Never a good sign."

"The first time we met, when both our parents went missing, nothing could've made either of us stay behind. You didn't even try to leave me out of it and I was greener than grass. John is Sam's father too, no matter what either of them might like to think about that fact."

Dean started fiddling with the cassette player. "He wanted out. We let him go. I haven't even spoken to him in two years. Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Yes, but... John sounded worried in that message. 'Something's starting, we're all in danger', I mean, it's hardly encouraging. Even if we can write that off as your dad being his normal, fun-loving self, Sam has a right to know John's in trouble. You can't do this hunt alone, Dean."

"At what point did we stop being partners?"

"I can't. I can't go with you this time. The crystals are lighting again, and it's only been two weeks since my last exorcism. I should've had at least another month of peace, maybe two. That isn't right and I need to keep an eye on it." Sara shrugged. "We've both hunted alone before."

"Yeah, and both of us hated it." Dean made himself put down the cassette player. He knew just how much it would cost Sara to even make such an offer and he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't just itching for a chance to see Sammy. "It's just one hunt, right?"

"Dean. Go to Stanford, meet Sam, convince him to go with you to Jericho. Find your Dad, probably in the middle of a terrible brawl, drop Sam off, pick me up. Simple."

Reluctantly, Dean nodded. "Promise you'll call me if you need help."

"Promise." Sara smiled at him, trying to look like she was fine with this, and managed to keep smiling throughout Dean's clumsy goodbye, right up until the Impala was pulling away from the Atwoods' isolated home.

Turning back towards the house, Sara leant against the porch railing and stared at the protective symbols carved into the wood.

"You know, you're one hell of a woman."

She blinked, managing to focus on Will. She hadn't even noticed him come out of the house. "Yes, and you should kneel down and worship me for it," she replied absently.

"Might pass on the kneeling," Will said, his cane pointedly tapping the floor as he walked forward to join her. "Fourth crystal just went haywire."

"That's just what I needed to hear. Thank you." Sara pulled the tie off her plait, running her fingers through her hair. "It's only been three days since the first one lit up, right?"

"Yeah. What's the significance?"

"The crystals light up when a demon tries to get out of hell. When all five are shining, it means the demon's out. But… normally it takes a week or more to get this far. I'll have to check the Diaries."

Will smiled. "Hell of a time to try and go solo, little Lucian."

"It's temporary."

"Alright, alright. I was just saying."

"Any word on Maxwell?"

"Adrian reached his house. No sign of him, but also no sign of anything panic-worthy. At least, not yet. Maxwell's probably just off avoiding people. Living in a city can be pretty rough on a seer. Too many signals, they get confused or something. Psychic overload."

"I did grow up with a psychic, you know."

"Yeah, but I like acting like I know more than you. It'd be nice if you let me get away with my delusions once in a while."

"Noted." With forced cheer, she nudged Will. "So let's go deal with our crystals."

xxx  
31st October, 2005,  
Palo Alto, California,

If he was very lucky, and very, very quiet, maybe he could get away with not going to this stupid party. But Sam knew better. Jess wanted to go, wanted him to go, and that was reason enough, even if all his memories, instincts and training were begging him not to.

Mind you, his reluctance to have anything to do with Halloween was just another useless throwback to his hunting days. All Hallows Eve was a bad time for Hunters, that was what everyone believed even if Sam had never found any real evidence for that. The belief was somewhere between paranoia and superstition, some old theory that some things were more powerful on such nights. His father had had a lot of training from some seriously old-school Hunters and, as a result, Sam had been busy barricading himself into various motel rooms while most of his age group had been out trick-or-treating.

Sometimes, he really, really wishes that leaving that life had been as easy, as clean, as simple as leaving his family. Not that Sam didn't have his regrets about how all of that happened, but walking away from Dad and Dean had been much more successful that walking away from Hunting.

But the only ex-Hunter was a dead Hunter, which was why there were these huge glyphs under the wallpaper of his apartment, why he had a knife hidden away in a compartment in a seemingly-innocuous drawer, why a friend of his brother broke into his apartment four times a year to put down wards and blessings.

"Sam? You coming or what?"

He grabbed his jacket, stuck his head out of the door and asked, "Do I have to?" even though he already knew that answer. And seeing the smile on Jess' face, he wasn't even that bothered anymore.

That old life might not be completely behind him, but he had a better one in front of him.

xxx  
1st November, 2005,  
Jericho, California,

Well, this was… awkward. And weird. But mostly, awkward.

Dean had thought he was ready for this, he really had. Sure, things would be awkward. Two people who hadn't spoken in two years, who had parted on way less than amicable terms, of course it would be awkward. But not this awkward.

God, Sara would kill herself laughing if she knew what he was thinking.

Mind you, at least she would've seen the funny side of breaking into an ex-Hunter's apartment. Damn it, this whole family reunion with monsters thing was just such a bad idea. Yeah, so he'd been waiting for this kinda opportunity to come around for years, but he'd always imagined Sammy being a little more… Sammy-ish. And by Sammy-ish, he'd been thinking of the Sammy who hadn't spent every waking minute arguing, even if that had also been the eight-year-old version of Sammy.

Well, there hadn't actually been an argument yet and it'd already been a good few hours. That was worth something.

Dean had improvised meals from just about every gas station in America and he could manage the selection of hugely inappropriate breakfast foods without even looking. Various foodstuffs, gas, fake credit card. It took him a moment to remember what name he was meant to be using, but he could probably have signed as Donald Duck and the guy at the register wouldn't have noticed.

Stepping out of the station, it was still a shock for Dean to see Sam sitting in the Impala. Three years of Sam's absence and Dean had gotten used to seeing a short redhead hanging around.

But still… it wasn't completely new territory. Dean was prepared to bet that even after three years, he could still wind Sam up as easily as breathing.

"Hey," he said, stepping around the car. "You want breakfast?"

xxx  
1st November, 2005,  
Black Earth, Wisconsin,

…Got the crystals today. JL wasn't happy about sending them over to America, but if she wants me to do my job properly, I'll need them. Turns out that their range is much larger than we'd anticipated – distance seems to have little effect on them, just salt water. I've got coast-to-coast coverage of America, not to mention Canada. Now the only problem is finding the omens to point me to the demon. It's not like that nail trick will work for something happening a thousand miles away. 

"Get anything?"

Sara looked up to see Will watching her. "Nope. Well, I know that the crystals light up when a demons escapes hell, I know that the demon will be coming out somewhere in America, or maybe Canada, and I know that they have never activated so quickly since my mother brought them here in '85. But nothing to explain why they're doing this." She flipped the diary shut with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

"'85? I thought your mom came here in the seventies," Will said, sitting down and carefully stretching his bad leg out.

"She did. It was only meant to be temporary, but there's more to kill out here, you know?"

"Wonder why that is," Will said thoughtfully.

"No idea. Go research it or something." Sara pushed the book aside. She hated reading her mother's old journal. While the average Hunter's Journal remained impassive and impersonal, Lucians had always been more likely to emote through the written word. "To hell with this. I'm going to go and check for omens."

"Again?" Will asked, but cut himself off, grinning, when she glared at him.

Muttering about irritating trackers, Sara walked through the kitchen to the basement stairs. It took a four-digit code to get into the basement, a security feature not found in most houses, and Sara hit the relevant buttons on the keypad without really thinking about it. A short trip down some stairs and she was standing in Will's domain, the Hub, as he liked to call it. Sara was just grateful he hadn't tried to call it Cerebro instead.

But, silly names aside, Will's computer set up was one of the most useful things Sara had ever come across. In the twelve months since Will had been forcibly retired from active Hunting, he'd made a name for himself as one of the best trackers in North America, helped by a great deal of natural skill and a homebuilt network of computers specifically designed to dig out any facts a Hunter might need. For a price, of course. This kind of technology did not come cheap.

Sara spared the crystals a glance as she settled down in front of one computer. The fifth crystal was still relatively dim, but it definitely looked brighter than it had the night before. Anticipation was a bitch. The only time it didn't disappoint was when you were expecting badness. And Sara was more certainly expecting badness.

However, until the badness actually arrived, she had work to do. Even if she had a killer headache, which wasn't helping. One of Will's freaking machines must be humming or something.

Sara stood up again. It was probably the computer under the basement stairs; it was the newest addition to the Hub and was suffering from what Will called 'minor technical difficulties'. As far as Sara could work out, that meant the damn thing was about as likely to implode as to be any actual help.

But she had only taken three steps when she realised her mistake. It wasn't the computer at all. Sara turned back, crouching down so the worktable and the crystals on it were at eye-level. The damn things had never hummed before, she was sure of that.

"Hey, Will!" she called. "Can you come down here?"

Hearing Will start to move on the floor above, she turned back to the crystals. Five crystals, never perfect, but Sara knew them as well as her own face and there was definitely something wrong with what she was seeing.

She only spotted the cracks in the crystals when they lengthened and had barely started to turn away when they exploded.

xxx  
2nd November, 2005,  
Palo Alto, California,

You can get used to anything. Anything but your kid brother walking away from you, that is.

Dean had sometimes wondered if it would've made any difference if he'd taken Sam to Stanford himself, instead of going to get completely pissed on cheap tequila and letting the kid get the bus. It wouldn't have made Sam stay, he knew that. But maybe those few extra miles together might've made Sam look back once in a while. Might've given Dean a chance to say… oh, something, anything to let Sam know that they were still brothers. Would always be brothers.

But it wouldn't. This whole weekend, Dean hadn't managed to do anything different. They'd bickered, insulted, mocked and just generally been brothers, but they'd done that for eighteen years and Sam had left. Two extra days wasn't going to change anything this time around.

Hunters don't give up. Semper fi, stubborn as shit, whatever you wanted to call it, Hunters never gave up. Period.

So he leant slightly towards to the departing figure of his brother, making sure to keep one hand on the steering wheel – he wasn't going to be staying, he knew that – and said, slow casual, "You know, we made one hell of team back there."

Even in the shitty lighting, he could see the faint smile on Sam's face. "Yeah," Sam said, but didn't move, didn't say anything else, and Dean had to start driving before either one of them said anything else.

Hunters might not give up, but they didn't fight pointless battles either.

One weekend didn't change anything. Sure, they'd killed a Woman in White and Sam had got his chest nearly ripped open – good luck explaining those wounds to the pretty blonde upstairs – and they'd proved once more that, yes, John Winchester was a Magnificent Bastard, but… this wasn't going to change. Not ever.

God, he hated the silence, almost as much as he hated the sight of an empty passenger seat, and he reached forward to turn on the radio. Didn't matter what station or what song, noise was the main thing right now.

His cell beeped from somewhere in his jacket and it was just his heavily-ingrained habit that made him fish it out. Unless the world was fucking ending, he really didn't give a damn, but he still flipped it open.

The phone was dropped as soon as Dean saw the text message, both hands shooting back to the steering wheel. It was a damn good thing that the streets were nearly empty, otherwise the 180 Dean pulled off would've been deadly for somebody.

On the floor of the Impala, the cell's lit screen still showed the message.

From: Adrian  
Received: 22.59  
Message: 911 - Sam. 


	2. Chapter 2

_It was good to be home, for all it was good to see Dean again. Cookies, non-motel bed, hot shower, normality had its perks. _

_Something hit his forehead, a drop of something. If that idiot on the floor above had let his bath overrun again… Sighing, he reopened his eyes. _

_Jess was there. On the ceiling. Blood across the front of her nightdress. Eyes open. Looking right at him._

_'Why, Sam? Why?'_

Sam jerked awake, Jess' voice still ringing in his ears and the stench of smoke in his nose.

But there was no voice, no smoke, except that which still clung to his clothes. Just a cheap motel room and a life literally gone up in flames.

No way was Sam going back to sleep. But, on the other hand, he didn't really have much to get up for either. Rolling over onto his side, he could see the empty second bed, the partially open door. It was easy for him to hear the voices coming from outside.

"-Told you, I got the 911 message, same as you."

Female, Sam's tired mind idly identified. English accent. Had to be Sara Lucian. She was the only girl Dean really knew, after all.

"So how did Adrian know this was going to happen?" That was easier. Dean, definitely Dean.

"Educated guess. He found Maxwell with a bullet in his brain and some internet articles that pointed straight to Sasquatch. A report of a debate, he'd been in the team or something."

Sam didn't remember a Maxwell. Or an Adrian, for that matter. Had to be Hunters, though, for Dean to know them.

"Maxwell's dead?"

"Suicide."

"A seer just blew his own brains out? What the fuck did he see?"

"No idea. But, no disrespect intended, it has to have been worse than just one girl dying. I mean, Maxwell got real-time visions of what the Nazis were up to when he was a teenager."

A pause, almost long enough for Sam to drop off again despite his reluctance.

"Is this-" Sara cut herself off, sounding uncertain. "Is this what happened to your mother?"

A sigh, another pause, before Dean finally replied. "Same date and everything."

"Do you think this is the 'something' that John warned you about?"

Right, Dad was still missing. Had to deal with that too. Or maybe it was the same thing as Jess's – Maybe it was connected to what had happened last night. Work to do. Quietly, Sam pushed himself up. He was still dressed, minus his jacket and shoes.

"If it is, I'm gonna kill him for not giving us a decent heads-up."

"Decent by who's standards? 'Cause, for John, that message was nigh-on miraculous."

A faint chuckle, Dean's laugh when he wasn't quite in the mood for humour but could appreciate a joke all the same. Funny how after three years, Sam could still identify his brother's different laughs.

"Can you stick around?"

"Got nowhere else to be, Dean. My crystal system is just so many shards now. For the first time, I'll flying blind, just like you."

"That scares you?"

"Don't be stupid."

Sam gave up on finding his shoes. Barefoot, he headed for the door, pulling it fully open and squinting in the sunshine. Dean was leaning against the Impala, right in front of the motel room door.

"Hey," he said, with an attempt at a smile.

Sam merely nodded in greeting, then turned his attention to Sara. She hadn't changed much in three years, the same pale skin and red hair, same way of standing tall and proud so no one would notice she barely passed the five-foot marker.

"Sara came to help," Dean said.

Help? Oh, right. His life had just become their latest fucking case.

"Unless you want me to leave," Sara offered when Sam just continued to stare at her.

"Doesn't matter either way, does it?" he said finally and turned back into the motel room. He really needed to get the smoke-stench off.

Like he'd said the night before, they had work to do.

xxx

Dean and Sara had worked together, Sam realised sometime before lunch. Not just the odd hunt here and there, but… they'd been partners. A fulltime team. It was easy to see when they went back to what was left of his apartment, the way that they divided up the work without even saying a fucking word. The way they could trade theories without needing the finish sentences.

Well, it explained the sword in the Impala's trunk and the box of books in the backseat. Sara had been living with Dean, travelling around America, doing the whole Buffy thing. Mind you, with that hair, maybe the whole Willow thing would be a more appropriate way of phrasing it.

Sam knew enough to know that it wasn't anything more than that, though. Dean might have the libido of a succubus, but Sam knew he wouldn't sleep with Sara. Sara was a friend, one of few friends Dean actually had, and Dean had never been able to have a long term, meaningful sexual relationship.

But this whole thing pissed him off, and he was just sensible enough to acknowledge it as misplaced anger, but he was still pissed off. Dean couldn't do this alone? He didn't fucking have to! If he'd just kept hunting with Sara, left Sam out of it, then maybe Jess would've lived.

Or maybe he should have just told her the truth. Told her about the dreams. But if anyone had ever worked out how to convince people that demons were real, there would be a lot more hunters out there. Or maybe just a lot more protective symbols on walls, but whatever.

Not that the protective symbols had done Jess much good. Sam could just make out the outline of some of the symbols under the charred wallpaper in the sitting room. Sara was staring at it as well, frowning, while Dean laboriously checked over each inch of the apartment once again.

"Don't suppose you saw anything, did you?" Sara asked, turning away from the wall.

"No," Sam replied shortly.

For a moment, he thought she'd ask another question, but her eyes glanced down at his hands and she turned away without another word.

It took him far too long to realise that his fists were clenched.

xxx

Tuesday was spent talking to people. Police, fire department, Jess' friends. Her parents. Dean stuck close to Sam, and he was grateful for that. Sara, on the other hand, was off doing some research on her own and Sam was grateful for that too. This was all complicated enough without some random Hunter treating him like an idiotic witness.

And, again, he was aware of how irrational that was. But he was allowed a little irrationality by his calculations. On the rare occasions that he felt like being clearheaded, he could see that Sara wasn't treating this just like any other case. She was also being pretty decent about giving him his space. Or she had been.

Tuesday evening, Dean headed out alone to drown his sorrows in tequila, leaving Sam and Sara in the motel room. Sara had a room of her own, but not a laptop and seemed to doing more research, from what Sam could tell.

"What's the 911 message?"

Sara looked up sharply, clearly startled. Sam couldn't blame her; it was the first time he'd spoken to her in more than twenty-four hours.

"Uh, kinda like our version of 'officer down'," she said, sounding uncertain. "If one of us gets word that a Hunter or just someone we know is in some kinda trouble, word goes out in text-message form and everyone starts running."

"Who gets the message?"

"Dean, me, Will and Adrian, Caleb. Harrison used to, but he's in prison at the moment for forgery. Bobby Singer should as well, but I'm never sure if that guy knows how to use texts, so…" She shrugged.

"I thought Hunters were meant to be antisocial," Sam said. It didn't surprise him that his father wasn't on the list.

"Well, it's not like we're exchanging Christmas cards, Sasquatch. We're a dying breed and I'd rather not lose anyone else if I can avoid it."

"How long have you and Dean been working together?"

"Two years, two and a half? Something like that."

"So how come you didn't go with him to Jericho?"

"Figured Dean couldn't be the only Winchester to be suicidally invested in his family." Sara shut the laptop and pulled her jacket off the back of the chair. "Speaking of, Sam, I'm probably never gonna agree with John or how he does things, but the next time you want to hurt that man, I'd appreciate it if you left Dean out of it."

"You think that was all this was? Trying to hurt my dad?" Sam said angrily just as Sara reached the door.

"Way I see it, everything's about hurting someone or something. The only variant is the target." She gave Sam a falsely-bright smile that reminded him way too much of Dean. "Later, Sasquatch."

Dean came back in the early hours of morning, stinking of smoke and alcohol, but at least Sam didn't have to explain why Sara had left.

xxx

"So do you want to start or should I?" Dean asked finally.

Sara, sitting next to him on the Impala's hood, frowned at him. "Start with what?"

"The obvious link between this and what happened to my mom."

"Why do I always have to be the bad guy with you? Fine, it's Sam," she said. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Nothing. Just didn't want to be the first one to say it."

Sara shook her head in disbelief, but she was almost smiling. "Well, it might not be Sam, in all fairness. The main link is your family. The Winchesters."

"If that's true, why go after Sam? Why not me, or dad?"

"Think about it. This demon, or whatever it is, wakes up and starts looking for you guys again. John hears it's coming and drops off the grid, you're zigzagging across the country, but Sam's been standing still for three years, right here in Palo Alto. He was the easiest Winchester to track down."

"And killing Jessica?"

"Wrong place, wrong time," Sara offered. "But if all of this is connected, Maxwell's suicide, the crystals, John's message, if it's all about the same thing.."

"We're fucked," Dean agreed. "Funeral's tomorrow," he added. "I'd kinda hoped we'd have some answers by now."

"Your dad spent twenty years searching and you thought you could crack this in three days? Dream on, freak."

"You don't have to leave."

She didn't bother to ask how he knew. "Yes, I do. Sam needs you more than I do right now and I don't think he'd appreciate me tagging along."

"We can still work together."

"No job needs three people, Dean, and Sam isn't going to stay here. Not unless you really can solve this thing in three days." She shrugged. "I'll be okay."

"You could hunt with Adrian-"

Sara snorted. "Yeah, right. He hasn't had a partner since Will's accident and he sure as hell isn't going to change that anytime soon."

"I didn't mean for this to happen," Dean said helplessly.

"Don't get so worked up, you idiot. It'll be just like it was before Sam went away, only without him and John trying to kill each other on a regular basis. We'll keep in touch, help each other out where necessary. It'll be fine."

"When are you going?"

"Tonight. Got a flight booked back to Wisconsin." She slid off the hood and stood in front of him. "I'll call if I hear anything useful."

Dean reached out and wrapped one hand around her silver pendent, giving it a slight tug. "You'll call a hell of a lot more often than that, understand?"

It was a moment before Sara realised, then she rolled her eyes and nodded. "Sure." When Dean still didn't let go, she huffed out a breath and added, "I promise, okay?"

"Yeah."

It wasn't okay, not entirely. But it was as close as they were all going to get right then, so Dean let Sara walk away and went back to waiting for Sam to finish talking to Jessica's parents.

xxx

It was three days later, one funeral, four shouting matches and an all-out brawl between the two brothers before Sam conceded that there was nothing left to be found in Palo Alto. Dean was still working on convincing him that none of this was his fault, but he'd take what he could get at this point.

They had some coordinates, the ones John had left for him. For some reason, they were keeping up the pretence that John might actually be waiting for them there. If that happened, Dean would sell the Impala. The coordinates were probably just something his dad had noted to pass on to Dean before he decided to disappear.

Sam was acting like they'd find Dad in the first five minutes. And, yeah, Dean would've agreed with him before this last week. Normally tracking down John Winchester just involved following the trail of destruction or the scent of booze, depending on the occasion. But this time…

In all honesty, things hadn't been exactly normal for over a year, ever since John had worked out that Sara's own father could help them find something out about this demon. Ever since then, things had been different. Dean wasn't sure how far he believed that Linus hadn't been able to tell John anything useful and he would guess that Sara would be trying to track the man down herself after this new development.

Another time, he might have some doubts about getting Sara involved in this. But she'd be pissed off if she knew he was even thinking like that and Lord knew she'd be a help before this was over. This demon might be one badass fucker, but Dean was prepared to cope with that and he was prepared to ask for help, even if Sara would never need to be asked.

He wasn't sure he was prepared for Sam to keep acting like he could get this over with in a matter of days. Or how his little brother seemed to be operating on almost pure rage, his own safety be damned.

But at least Sam was finally back where Dean could protect him properly. That was worth something. Worth a hell of a lot.

He just had to hope that it would be enough.

xxx  
12th November, 2005,  
Black Water Ridge, Colorado,

"Okay, new rule. You can't call me between the hours of two and six, alright?"

Dean grinned, even though Sara couldn't see it. And even though it was past three in the morning, he hadn't thought for a second that she wouldn't pick up. She'd pick up the phone and then be prissy about it, which seemed to be just about what was happening.

"You weren't even asleep, Sara," he replied.

"Yeah, but I was getting there."

"Any luck replacing the crystals?"

"None. There isn't any information about where the damn things came from. Judging by how old they are, it doesn't matter. Whoever made them should be long dead, but knowing my luck he'll pop up in the back of my truck and try to kill me."

Dean snickered; he couldn't help it. "Are you feeling slightly stressed over there, my little Lucian?"

"Fuck you." And Dean could practically see Sara rolling her eyes. "Look, Dean, much as I love these little insults of yours, what's bothering you this time? Is Sam okay?"

"Define 'okay'."

"Well, at the moment, I'd settle for him being upright and breathing. Eating something would be a bonus."

"He's gone to get dinner. I'm going to end up with salad, I just know it."

"Dean…" And now he could hear the irritation. "You're never going to tell me what's wrong, are you? I mean, you're the guy who said you were fine when a Black Dog was trying to eat your foot."

"Hey, I had that under control."

"You always forget, Dean. I know you and I know the only thing that can really scare you. And I can guess, fairly accurately, that Sam is… angry and bitter and wants to hurt something, anything. Even himself. And that worries you. Why the fuck do you think Adrian refused to let me hunt for three months after my mother died?"

"For a girl who claims to be emotionally repressed, that was awful close to enlightened."

"Most Hunters go through that at some point. Normal people, they lose a loved one, they yell at someone, they move on. Hunters have the advantage of always having something to blame, something to track down and hurt. Hence, lack of moving on."

"If Hunters moved on, we wouldn't have Hunters."

"Now who's being enlightened?" Sara teased gently. "I take it John wasn't waiting for you in Colorado."

"Those co-ordinates were probably just something he'd lined up for our next job."

"Hm. What was there?"

"A pissed-off Wendigo and three civilians."

"Nice. You pulled it off, though, right?"

"Dude, do you even need to ask?"

"Not really, but I'm a girl. If I don't spend enough time talking on the phone, I get twitchy. By the way, we're stretched pretty thin at the moment, so stay outta trouble. Goddamn feds have hauled Joshua in."

Dean swore softly. "Is that permanent?"

"No idea. Will's got him a decent lawyer, that guy from San Fran who we saved from the demonic beaver thing. He did say he owed us."

"Oh, yeah. Wasn't he the guy who offered to take you away from all this?"

"Didn't we agree never to speak of that again?"

"Hm. Possibly." Dean sighed. "Whatever you're up to, Sara, just be careful."

"You too," Sara said, just before she hung up.

Dean dropped the phone back onto his bed, listening with amusement to Sam fighting with the keycard thingamabob outside. When the door finally swung open to reveal Sam with a paper bag that hopefully contained dinner, Dean gave him a raised eyebrow and a mocking smile.

Without any hesitation, Sam flipped him the bird and threw the bag at his head. Dean caught it, his smile changing into one of genuine pleasure.

Still brothers.

xxx  
16th November, 2005,  
Harvelle's Roadhouse, Nebraska,

Hunters were antisocial creatures, but even they occasionally needed somewhere to drink, somewhere to confer, a neutral area for negotiations. Somewhere like the Roadhouse.

Sara mostly used it for the latter option. She had her fair share of enemies, those who disapproved of the way she did her exorcisms, and meeting in a place like this, where she had an ally or two as well, was the safest option.

Even just pushing open the door got her more than her fair share of filthy looks. Most Hunters were men and her gender was enough to make them disapprove. Old fashioned bastards, the lot of them. Never mind that hunting had gone equal-opportunity with the invention of the semi-automatic.

There were some other women in this life though, like Ellen, who gave Sara a surprised smile when she saw her. Sara had avoided this place fairly religiously since she started working with Dean.

"Why do I get the feeling you're not here for a drink, honey?"

Sara smiled. The fact that a roadhouse owner who she'd only met a handful of times was so much more motherly than her actual mother never failed to amuse her. "Because you're a very smart woman, Ellen. Have you heard from John?"

"I haven't seen Winchester in at least fifteen years and you know it."

"Well, then, has anyone heard from him in the last month or so? A whisper, a sighting, a rumour. Anything."

"No, nothing. Why? Does this have something to do with…" Ellen glanced at the hunters and lowered her voice. "With California?"

"That was only a fortnight ago, how did you hear about it?" Sara demanded, also speaking softly.

"Ash does live in my basement, remember. Idiot can't keep his mouth shut."

"If he tells any other hunters, I'll gut the little bastard."

"He won't," Ellen hastened to say. "I'll make sure of that, but why? Why is this so important?"

"There has to be a reason why John never introduced his boys to the wider world of hunting and I don't think it was just because of his way with people." Sara hesitated for a second before speaking again. "I don't know what happened between you and John. I don't want to know. But he would've done just about anything to help Jo. All I'm asking is for you to return the favour."

"Can't make any promises, Sara."

"Wouldn't trust them if you did. You are a hunter, after all." But she said it with a smile, which Ellen returned. When facing facts like those, sometimes it was easier to pretend you were both joking.

They'd barely concluded the deal when some idiot to Sara's far right smashed a beer bottle over some other idiot's head. Ellen hurried over to crack both their skulls while Sara watched with an amused eye for a moment before turning towards the door. Places to go, things to kill and all that.

"Hey, Lucian, is it true the Feds got Josh?"

Sara turned to the speaker, recognising him as the one called Smithy after a moment. "Yeah. They're blaming him for the chaos caused by that scaly thing he was tracking."

"He killed it before they got him, right?" asked Smithy's partner, a man whose name was allegedly Weston. Didn't matter what it really was, though.

"Course he did, Wesson," Sara said, grinning when the man rolled his eyes. It was his own fault for teaming up with Smithy, after all.

The pair were good guys, as far as Hunters went, and Sara had no qualms about spending a few more minutes chatting with them. She even managed to wrangle a possible job out of them, with a bit of work. She was almost enjoying herself until Smithy nudged her, pointing out the crowd that had just entered the roadhouse with Walker at the forefront. Wesson had spotted the man as well and with a wink for Sara, he got up and headed over, neatly blocking Walker's view of both Sara and the back door.

Never one to waste a good escape plan, Sara was outside in a matter of moments. Walker was the worst kind of hunter, the kind who didn't even deserve to be called hunters. It wasn't made any better by the fact that Walker wasn't just a suspected killer, but a confirmed one and he'd made no secret of his dislike for Sara.

Quickly, she walked to the front of the Roadhouse and to where her truck was parked. She was annoyed at having to bail on Smithy and Wesson so quickly, as they were some of the few hunters she liked and respected for more than their body-count, but she wasn't one to pick fights unnecessarily.

When the roadhouse was firmly behind her, Sara pulled out her phone and hit two on the speed dial. .

"Will, it's me," she said, turning back on to the main road. "Find every record of Sam Winchester, hell, find every record of every Winchester and bury them, okay? I don't want anyone being able to find anything without you leading the way. And make sure your geek soul mate doesn't undo your work."

"Any particular reason I'm stuffing the entire Winchester family – and, by the way, I'm assuming you mean past and present in that – under the proverbial carpet?"

"Because, at the moment, no hunter that we don't trust knows anything about the Winchesters other than the fact they exist and I would like to keep it that way. From the crowd in the Roadhouse, the Purists are on the move again."

"How does that fit in with the Winchesters?"

"No idea, but Sam's been targeted by the same demon twice and that would be reason enough for some of those bastards."

Will sighed. "Doesn't that mean that you're not safe either?"

"I've never been anything but tolerated by those nutcases, Will. I can handle the Purists."

She really, really hoped she wasn't lying. The Purists, known for their black and white view of a technicolour world, had once nearly wiped her family off the face of the planet, but these days they had always been more isolated, more alone. But if they were massing together again…

"Anything else I can do to help?"

It was Sara's turn to sigh. "Finding John wouldn't go amiss, that's for sure."

"And if wishes were horses-"

"We'd all be eating steak, I know," Sara finished.

"Still, I'll see what I can do. I take it you don't want me telling Dean about this new security measure?"

"You know me so well."

"Oh, before you wander off again, there's something weird going on in Kansas. I emailed you the details, and this time you will be calm, rational and not taunt the spirit with a fake four-leaf clover or-"

Sara, grinning, folded the phone shut. It wasn't her fault that Dean was a bad influence.

xxx

As said before, this story is a WIP and kinda an experiment for me. Any comments would be hugely apreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

3xxx  
4th December, 2005,  
Pennsylvania,

Sam knew his brother could never resist a challenge. Tell Dean he couldn't do something, it would be done before you could blink. But getting into a evidence warehouse wasn't exactly run of the mill, not even for the Winchesters.

"Sam, where'd you put your IDs?" Dean asked, rifling through the bags in the trunk.

"Box in the glove compartment. You put them there," he added. Not that there were many left. Sam's fake ID collection had dwindled at Stanford, where he had taken pleasure in just being Sam Winchester, college student extraordinaire. The one that he still had – a New York driver's license – had been kept purely because Dean had made it to get him into bars, not for more… unusual activities.

Dean shrugged and fetched the box.

"I don't think a fake driver's license is going to get us into that warehouse," Sam said.

"Just need a picture, Sammy. That and a Copy Jack. Come on, there's one in town."

"Where do you get all your fake IDs anyway?" Sam asked as they sped off in the Impala. "I thought the police closed Harrison down."

"They did. He's still in jail, getting out sometime next year. Guy called Adrian produces them out of his basement these days. His brother's got this computer set-up to make them more authentic, appear on the system and all that jazz."

"Hunters?"

"Adrian is. Will's retired. Hunt went wrong, one of his legs got completely messed up. Does tracking now, pretty good at it and all. Anyway, Adrian's emailed me instructions for our next identities, so give me half an hour and some luck, and we'll be ready."

Sam nodded. "How'd you manage to be on good enough terms with a forger for him to share his trade secrets?"

"Hey, I'm not a total hermit, you know. Didn't spend the last four years in a cave or anything," Dean said at his most prissy.

"Okay, fine, sorry I asked." After another pause, Sam risked a final question. "So what are our new identities?"

Dean gave him his trademark shit-eating grin. "Homeland Security."

"Oh, boy."

xxx

Two interviews, one visit to a mental health farm and one break in later, Dean was not a happy Hunter. Ghosts, fine, phantom travellers, fine, but possessions? There was a reason he was friends with Sara Lucian, so he didn't have to deal with this kinda thing! He paced in the motel room, his irritation leaping up a notch as he got Sara's voicemail yet again.

"So what do you have?" he asked Sam.

Sam looked up from his laptop. "So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right? I mean, Christian, Native American, Hindu, you name it."

"Yeah, but none of 'em describe anything like this," Dean said. From what Sara said, most demons chose a host and then stayed there, running around and killing people to cause terror and fear. Which, admittedly, worked very well.

"Well, that's not exactly true. See, according to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease."

"And this one causes plane crashes?"

Sam shrugged, and Dean could see the you got any better ideas? in the movement.

He sighed. "All right, so, what? We've got a demon that's evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?"

"Yeah. You know, who knows how many planes it's brought down before this one? What?" Sam asked as Dean turned around, scratching his head.

"I don't know, man. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, demons – they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big. I've never dealt with a possession."

"Not once?" Sam asked.

He shook his head. "Not without Sara. Even then, a lot of the time she just wanted me to stay out of her way."

"So call her, get her over here."

"Been trying, man. She must be on a job or something. She'll call the moment she gets the messages, though."

Almost before Dean finished speaking, his phone started ringing. "At last!" he said, grabbing it. "Hello?"

"Dean, it's Jerry. My pilot friend, Chuck Lambert, is dead."

Yeah, this was just getting better and better.

xxx

Sam held the phone to his ear using his shoulder. "Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey, and if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks." He hung up and turned to Dean. "All right, that takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flyin' anytime soon."

"So, our only wildcard is the flight attendant, Amanda Walker."

"Right. Her sister, Karen, said her flight leaves Indianapolis at 8 PM. It's her first night back on the job."

"That sounds like just our luck."

They were hurtling down the road when Dean's phone rang. He took one hand off the steering wheel to grab it.

"What?" he snapped.

"Dean, it's Sara. Just got your messages, what the hell is going on?"

Dean put the phone on speakerphone and tossed it to Sam to hold.

"Demonic possession," he said.

"Damn it, where?"

"Indianapolis. Where are you?"

"New York, bad voodoo thing. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Won't be soon enough," Dean interrupted. "It's possessing dudes on flights, crashing the plane after forty minutes."

"How the hell can you find it then?" Sara asked.

"Two months ago, a couple of people survived. It's going after the survivors and one of them is flying tonight in a few hours."

Sara swore loudly. "Dean, tell me Sam's still working with you."

"I'm here," Sam said.

"Hey, Sasquatch, how'd you like to be an exorcist?"

"Sara-"

"Dean, do I even need to start with the reasons why you cannot do this?" Sara said.

"Don't like this," Dean said.

"Join the club. Take it Sam's never done one of these before?"

"You know he hasn't. Dad never let us."

"Well, I know Sam's stubborn enough at least."

Sam flushed slightly. "What are you two talking about?"

"Best case scenario, you stop the plane taking off, I get there, track down the demon and everything's peachy. Failing that, you have to get on that plane and exorcise the damn thing," Sara explained. "What do we know about the demon?"

"There are stories about Chinese demons causing floods and plagues, things like that. I figured this is the same deal, just kinda modernised."

"Good call, Sam, but demons rarely move with the times. Very traditional creatures. It's more likely that this is a particularly young demon, born after man achieved commercial flight."

"And younger means easier to deal with," Dean said.

"Give the man a small cigar," Sara said. "You boys got your dad's journal? There's an exorcism ritual in there."

"How do you know?" Dean asked as Sam scrabbled in the back seat for the precious book.

"Mum gave it to him. Ultimate Lucian vote of confidence."

"Got it," Sam said. "Rituale Romanum."

"Most basic exorcism known to man, short of setting the possessed guy on fire," Sara said. "Knowing John, your Latin's better than your English, so pronunciation shouldn't be too much of an issue. But there's more to it than the words, Sam."

"Willpower, right?"

"Willpower, focus, whatever you want to call it. Winchesters are stubborn enough to do this, but I'm not so sure about the control part."

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged.

"You're putting a bit of yourself on the line here, Sam. Not just a limb, but a part of your soul. Now, it doesn't sound like the demon's too bad, so you should be ok. Dean, you remember the fallout?"

"How could I forget?"

"Sam's fallout won't be nearly so bad, but be nice to him for a few days, alright?"

"I'm always nice to him!"

Sam snorted.

"Use holy water to weaken the demon along with the Latin," Sara continued.

"What about restraining it?" Dean asked.

"Well, my personal favourite is a magic circle of some sort."

"Not really an option on a plane, Sara," Dean reminded her.

"The demon is probably no more than a third level, so telekinesis isn't an issue. Dean can sit on it, use duct-tape, whatever."

"Hang on, what's the fallout?"

"Physical price for messing for otherwordly forces, Sam," Sara said. "Kinda like the flu, over in a couple of days. Dean'll help you with that part, don't worry. Oh, you'll need the herbs."

"Got some," Dean said. "You left some in the trunk."

"Herbs?"

"For detox," Dean told Sam. "Clears the magic out of you."

"That covers the basics, I think," Sara said. "So let's get to work on your control. How long do we have?"

"Couple of hours," Dean answered.

"Okay, Sam, here's what I want you to do," Sara started.

Dean left her to prepare his brother and concentrated on getting them there in time. Yeah, so it was a five hour drive normally. He could probably manage to halve that.

xxx

When the plane made it safely back to Indianapolis, Sam was wrecked. It wasn't unexpected; the after-effects of an exorcism would do that to you, especially when it was your first. Dean, on the other hand, was so happy to be safely off the plane that he had energy enough for both of them. Dodging the officials wanting to know what the hell had just happened, Dean kept one hand on Sam's arm and guided his kid brother out to the car park.

Grumbling to himself about exorbitant parking fees, even though he had no intention of actually paying, Dean let Sam fold his lanky figure into the front seat as he rummaged through the trunk until he found the dried herbs that Sara had left behind at some point. With the herbs in one hand, he fished out his phone and dialled.

"All's good, Sara," he said before she could start one of her rants. "Demon's back in hell."

"How's Sam?"

"Looks like death warmed up. I've got your magic weed here. What's he supposed to do with it?"

"Eat it. Literally, just chew and swallow. You ok?"

"I'm not the one who had to exorcise a demon."

"Ah, so you didn't freak out on the plane?"

Dean only hesitated for a split second. "Course not. I'm a professional."

"Uh-huh." It was amazing how much disbelief could be crammed into two syllables. "Did the demon pull any fun facts out of thin air to taunt Sam with?"

"Claimed his girlfriend was burning in hell," Dean admitted.

"Yeah, figured that might happen. Every now and again, a demon will say something like that about Mum."

"How'd you deal?"

"If I figure it out, I'll let you know."

"You done with that voodoo thing yet?"

"It's going to take another coupla days, Dean, sorry."

"Well, be careful, ok?"

"You too. Tell Sam he did well for me."

"I will. See you in a few weeks, right?"

"What for?"

"Uh, Christmas? Will said Sam was more than welcome, you know, considering the two of you normally make enough to feed forty hunters, never mind four."

"Point taken. But how do you know Sam'll want to celebrate at all? I mean, the thing with Jess…"

"It'll be good for him. All else fails, I'll tell him Will wants him to look at the Hub."

Dean put the phone back in his jacket pocket and slid into the driver's seat. "Eat these, ok?" he said, tossing the packet of herbs to his brother.

"So what's this fallout thing entail?" Sam asked, obediently opening the packet.

Dean rolled his eyes. Sam looked like shit and he still said things like 'entail'. "Headaches, dizziness, clumsiness – but you're used to that already –" He deflected the incoming jab to the ribs. "Stiffness, soreness, generally feeling like crap."

"Figures. I feel like I took on a Wendigo again."

"Sara said you did good for a first time."

"God, Dean, these herbs taste like..." Sam paused, pulling a face. "I don't know what they taste like, but-"

"Don't be such a whiny bitch. If Sara can chow down on them, so can you. You ready to get out of here?"

Sam nodded. "So Sara's still putting up with you?"

"Always helps to have an exorcist on your side, Sammy. She's a bit more open to friendship than her mom was."

"Friendship?"

"Yeah, you know, having occasional conversations that don't revolve around the latest creature feature?"

"Just nice to know someone was making sure you didn't do anything too stupid," Sam said lightly, cursing himself for his earlier incredulous tone.

"You're kidding, right? Sara's crazier than I am."

xxx

In New York, Sara dialled another number. John's number. She'd been calling him regularly since Dean told her he was missing, but this was the first time she hoped that he wouldn't pick up. Every time before, his number had been out of service entirely, but now his voicemail played immediately.

"This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean at 866-907-3235. He can help."

"Hey, John, it's Sara. Nice voicemail message. Um, it's about Sam. He's okay, don't worry, but..." Sara swallowed; she hated these messages. "Dean and Sam, they got mixed up in a possession. I was too far away, I couldn't help, and the host was on a plane, so Dean wasn't much use, and Sam had to do the ritual. The one in your journal, remember? And he pulled it off without a hitch, John. My first exorcism knocked me out and I'd had a year of fulltime preparation. He had three hours of coaching via a phone and he walked off that plane with nothing worse than a headache! Look, I don't know what the hell you're up to, but you picked a really bad time to play Lone Ranger." She sighed. "I get that you wouldn't abandon Dean unless you felt you had to. At least, I really hope so. But I seriously doubt you saw this coming. Sam's got power, the kind that humans aren't meant to have. This demon of yours has targeted the boy twice, so don't write this off as me being paranoid either. And you owe me. Big time."

That was the good thing about John, Sara thought as she hung up and tossed the phone onto a bedside table. He didn't mind hearing bad news. Not even about his own kids. Sara didn't keep many secrets from Dean, but she's be damned if she told him there was something wrong with his brother. Especially when it was probably nothing more than an irrational feeling of professional pride.

She tried to remember what Sam had been like before. Sara had met him a few times, occasionally when he was a teenager lurking behind his family and once at Stanford. There had been something about him, but she'd written that off as Winchester pride and strength. Anyone who could regularly butt heads with John Winchester was, after all, someone to be reckoned with.

But what if there had been something more? Power was hard to sense until it was activated. That was why you could never tell how good a Lucian would be until they were tested for the first time. What had happened between this exorcism and their last meeting that could cause that kind of power? Of course. The death of his girlfriend.

That was bad. The kind of power that needed blood to activate never ended well.

_Damn it, John, what the hell happened to your boy?_

_xxx_


	4. Chapter 4

xxx  
22nd December, 2005,  
Niagara Falls,

Adrian Atwood was more than a little pleased with himself as he made his way back out of the Egyptian Museum.

After almost a decade of hunting, he liked to think that he'd seen pretty much everything. But that wasn't to say he was bored, or jaded, by his work, and it wasn't every day you got to deal with a genuine ancient Egyptian cursed object. Not to mention the immense satisfaction in a little light B&E and the added bonus of pissing off a jumped-up warlock.

His car was parked just around the corner; he could be far, far away before the unfortunate guard woke up. Still grinning, Adrian quickly started the car up, flicked the heat up, and got the hell out of Dodge.

It took less than five minutes for his phone to go off, which would be strange if he didn't know that Will was probably watching him through security cameras. Sighing, he pulled out the phone.

"I thought I told you to avoid the main road?" Will said.

"Dude, you know I don't like it when you do that," he said.

"I'm your brother. Deal with it. And don't you even think about looking for another gig."

Adrian laughed. "Three days to Christmas? Come on, man, not even I would do that."

"I'm a highly respected tracker, I almost single-handedly built a truly awesome computer system and I'm responsible for keeping an eye on all major omens in this frigging continent, and yet getting four fucking hunters back to Wisconsin for one day is somehow beyond me."

"You have so many issues." Adrian frowned. "Four? Who's the fourth?"

"Dean's brother is coming."

"Wow. I bet he's going to be a real fun guy two months after his girlfriend got toasted."

"_Please _don't say that in front of anyone. Sara's just gonna get pissed at you."

"Is it worrying that we're more scared of a five-foot girl that of the things we hunt?"

"Probably."

"Is Sara gonna be there before the Winchesters?"

"Yeah. They arrive on the 24th, she's getting here in a few hours."

"Show her the stuff on Maxwell. If the guy was right-"

"We won't be around much longer. Alright. Just get here in time to stop her killing me, would you?"

"If I have to," Adrian replied and hung up before Will could argue.

xxx  
24th December, 2005,  
Black Earth, Wisconsin,

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes," he said for the umpteenth time. He really wasn't sure, but damned if he'd tell Sammy that. "Dude, it's just Christmas. Food, reasonably decent company and good odds on a lack of violence."

"Which, for us, would be an achievement for this part of year." Sam paused, reconsidering. "Or, actually, any part of the year. Hang on. What do you mean, good odds? Why not excellent?"

"Well, Sara and Adrian have this weird tradition involving swords and fighting on the lawn, but that rarely ends badly."

"_Rarely_?"

Dean grinned at him. "Hey, this is a house of Hunters, Sammy boy. Can't be civilised all the time."

But the house, when they finally reached it, did look perfectly civilised, even perfectly normal to the uneducated eye. It wasn't really in Black Earth, the distance being just large enough to ensure privacy and guarantee a lack of neighbours. Which would certainly be necessary if these guys really did have duels on the back lawn.

It was obvious, though, that Hunters lived here. Sam spotted half a dozen wards for protection when he was getting out of the Impala and he would bet a month's poker winnings that they were just the tip of the iceberg.

"Welcome to Valhalla," called a man, standing on the front porch.

"Valhalla?" Sam repeated, smiling.

"Will gets cranky if I call it 'Hades'. You must be Sam. I'm Adrian, resident… Well, I'm not actually really a resident anymore, but still. Welcome."

"What, I don't get a cute welcome?" Dean demanded, throwing Sam's bag to him.

"Screw you, Winchester," Adrian replied without a moment's hesitation. "Come on in, you freaks. Time for Sam to meet the rest of the inmates."

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam's smiled widened. "Hey, man," he said. "You were the one who thought this would be a good idea."

Will turned out to be much the same as his brother. There was more family resemblance between the two than between the two Winchesters and the only real shocker was Will's cane and the way he stood slightly tilted, keeping weight off his bad leg. But he grinned at Sam and made them all huge mugs of coffee while Sara made snide comments from her perch on one of the kitchen counters, defensively clutching her own mug of tea.

It was very nearly homely, Sam suddenly realised. Not for him, not his home, but still. This was some utterly freaky, totally unnatural mix of hunting and normality. The kind of world that a group of kids who couldn't get out of hunting would make, he realised.

There had never really been any hope of Dean turning his back on their father's work. But he was resourceful, Sam knew that better than anyone. If Dean couldn't – or wouldn't – get out of hunting, he could sure find a way to make it better.

When Sam glanced up, he caught Sara looking at him. She was worried, he knew, mostly for Dean, but for him as well. So he made a point of smiling at her and after a moment, she smiled back. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean relax, just a tiny bit.

xxx

It didn't surprise Dean when the two Atwood brothers took themselves off to Midnight Mass. Their father had been a priest, after all, even if Dean found the idea of a Hunter with genuine faith just a little ridiculous. It did kinda surprise him, though, when Sam went with them.

On the other hand, it did offer Dean the opportunity to pry Sara out of the basement with promises of popcorn and reruns of _Family Guy. _He knew that evil never slept, but it was Christmas Eve, after all.

Only problem was, Sara just couldn't sit still. Normally, she had the patience of a saint and when her jiggling nearly sent the popcorn spilling across the floor, Dean decided enough was more than enough. Hitting the pause button, leaving Stewie frozen in the middle of some rant, he just looked at Sara.

"Dean, it isn't-"

"Nuh-uh. I ain't buying that bullshit, Sara, so how about you just tell me what's wrong?"

"It's Christmas. You love Christmas."

And the really worrying thing was that Sara honestly believed that that was an acceptable reason for getting all worked up like this rather than just telling Dean what was wrong. Dean had no idea what he'd done to deserve that, and even though he appreciated the meaning behind it, he wasn't about to tolerate it.

"Yeah, so start talking and we can get it sorted before the others get back and then we can all do Christmas properly tomorrow."

Sara muttered something rude under her breath, but it wasn't angry or bitter and when she looked down, twisting her ring around her finger, Dean knew he'd won.

"Maxwell's death wasn't suicide. He was under a compulsion or something like that, something that doesn't leave a trace for a hunter to find," she said quietly. "He saw it coming, sent a load of stuff to Will. Of course, the US postal service managed to loose the package until about a week ago."

"What kind of stuff?" Dean asked, frowning.

"Uh, predictions, we think. It took him time to sort through a vision, you know? And I guess he really didn't have enough time to do that, 'cause it all reads like gibberish."

"Anything clear?"

"The way things have been going for us, I get the feeling none of it's going to make sense 'till it's too late to help. And even in all its vagueness, it's not good. Death features heavily, so does destruction and pain, not to mention fear. And something about the death of the brotherhood, which I am really not happy about."

"Me and Sam? Or Will and Adrian?"

"I don't know. Hell, I don't even know if he's talking about actual siblings. Could be some kinda metaphor for hunters, or for us," Sara said. "He talks about John going missing, but I can't find anything about whatever is happening to your dad now."

"We'll figure it out. We've got time, and even if we haven't, we'll make time," Dean said firmly, right over whatever objection Sara had been about to come out with. "I mean, it's not like we're going to get killed right this minute."

A twist of enchanted silver, designed to react to the presence of things that went bump in the night, exploded off the wall.

Sara gave Dean a filthy look. "You had to say it, didn't you? Idiot!"

Dean shrugged helplessly, already off the coach and moving to the weapons' cabinet by the front door. When he turned back, rifle in hand, Sara had produced a shotgun from under the coffee table.

In the three years Sara had been living here – and, by extension, Dean had been loitering here – the house had never been attacked by any kind of entity. But hunters were paranoid bastards at best and the Atwoods had chosen this house specifically for its easy defensibility and then done everything they could to give themselves an edge. Extra wards, strategically placed weapons, early warning systems. Anything and everything had gone into making this place safe.

Admittedly, it was a pity that it didn't work 100 perfectly, but you couldn't have everything in this world.

It wasn't in Dean's nature to play wait-and-see with any sort of monster, so he cautiously opened the front door, slipping out onto the porch with Sara just behind him.

The two of them instinctively turned when they heard the car approaching, but it was only the others. The car itself skimmed the dustbins before screeching to a halt in front of the house, but all three occupants looked unharmed, if a little pissed off.

"Will, get inside," Adrian yelled as he climbed out of the car. From the sound of it, this wasn't the first time he'd had to say that.

Will, for his part, gave his brother a filthy look, but he was already moving towards the house, as fast as his damaged leg would allow him to.

"What have we got?" Sara asked.

"Not sure, but they've been following us for a couple of miles. Damn things were moving like they were already dead, though, so we've got a minute or two," Adrian said. "Sam, cabinet by the front door. Help yourself."

"So which one of us got on the wrong side of something recently?" Dean asked as Sam hurried to arm himself. "An attack on a hunter's home can't be coincidence. And, for once, I don't think this is down to me or Sam. We've only done a salt and burn since the demonic pilot thing."

"Nothing but false leads since my voodoo adventure," Sara said.

"Voodoo? Could lead to zombies," Dean said.

"Not zombies," Adrian said, frowning. "Mummies."

"Mummies," Sara repeated. "As in, Ancient Egypt?"

"Coupla days ago, I took care of a cursed object, some Egyptian amulet type thing. We only heard about it 'cause some warlock or shaman was after it."

Sara nodded. "And he tracks you down for a little quality revenge. Brilliant."

"I've never heard of real-life mummies," Dean said. "How do you kill one?"

"Well, logically speaking, they can't be genuine mummies," Sam said, reappearing with a rifle in his hands. "There's no Egyptian museum around here, ergo no animated corpses. And if the warlock was just after some cursed trinket – which I'm assuming wasn't that big a deal, if no one had bothered to take it before – he can't possibly have the ability to either bind or summon real mummies from somewhere else."

Sara started to grin. "You're guessing, what, illusions? Manifest spirits, controlled by a talisman?"

"Doesn't much matter," Sam said as Dean and Adrian simultaneously rolled their eyes. "I mean, if these things aren't real mummies, then there's only way to get rid of them."

"Find the warlock and beat the holy crap out of him?" Dean suggested hopefully.

"Actually, yes," Sam said. "Which means we take the fight to him. He has to be close, to maintain his faux-mummies."

Adrian moved closer to the house, his meaning unsaid but clear. He stayed with his brother, and no one there would quibble about that.

"Alright," Dean said, grinning. "Let's go hunting."

xxx

They were, quite possibly, the weirdest trio to ever grace the road to Valhalla. Which, considering the people the Atwoods normally associated with, was really quite the accomplishment.

Two six foot males, both dressed in jeans, jackets, armed with rifles. One five foot girl, wearing a grey hoodie that would've been too big for Dean, sleeves pushed back to the elbows, and carrying a shotgun with easy competence.

But it wasn't just the way they looked, Sam knew. Their intention was more than enough to make them… unusual.

And it was Christmas Eve – well, Christmas morning by now – and they were hunting mummies and warlocks.

Sometimes, it was really easy to remember why he'd left this life.

He stopped walking when Sara did, watching her as she peered at the mage-stone. Sam had never seen such a thing before, but apparently it could lead you straight to the fiend of your choice, as Dean had put it. After a moment, Sara frowned, shook the stone slightly and took another look.

"Yeah. Mummies, dead ahead. Warlock, some way behind them." She tucked the stone away and looked at Dean. "Are you sure normal bullets will work?"

Dean shrugged. "They'll slow the mummies down, but manifest spirits can't be killed without destroying the talisman, remember?"

"So we keep moving forward until we reach the warlock?"

"That was pretty much the idea," Dean said and then directed a mocking half-bow at Sara. "Ladies first."

"Uh, guys?" Sam said, staring down the road. "Do you mind having this argument _after _the killer mummies tear us into little pieces?"

Sara cocked her shotgun, eyes focused on the approaching creatures. "Men. Always overreacting."

When the first wave of mummies came into view, the three Hunters managed to gun the entire line down without any difficulty. Manifest spirits couldn't be killed, per se, as you couldn't do more than destroy them and even then, the summoner could easily call them back, but it allowed them to keep moving forward.

The system that Sam and Dean used for this kind of thing worked with three as well with two: when one needed to reload, they fell back and the others covered them. Sara was a step behind the two Winchester, reloading her shotgun with quick, practised movements, when Sam caught sight of figure somewhere beyond the next wave of mummies.

A glance at Dean confirmed that he'd spotted the guy as well. It couldn't be another mummy, the proportions and movements were all wrong, but there weren't just mummies out here, right?

But the mummies were manifesting closer to the hunters now, pressing in, cutting them off.

Behind him, Sam could hear Sara swearing. He could see her back, complete with red braid, out of the corner of his eye and knew they were surrounded. But still, three cornered hunters had plenty of options to turn the tables.

At least, they did until one mummy got too close and sent Sara crashing to the ground with a single blow. She rolled before a rotting foot could strike her, reaching for her shotgun as another mummy knocked it well out of her reach.

Dean fired off his last round a moment later, and in the middle of a raging mob of mummies, there was hardly time to reload. He switched to swinging the rifle like a club instead, and Sam copied him, smashing the nearest creature's face in with the butt of his gun.

And Sara was still on the ground, now with a knife in her hand but it wasn't like these things cared when you sliced their knees open.

"Sam, go!" Dean yelled, sending one mummy hurtling into another.

Ducking under one waving monster, Sam did just that. He'd always been good at track, and he knew he could still run faster than his brother. Especially when his brother was at stake.

Behind him, he heard a thud and Sara's shout of _Dean, _and he smashed his way through three more mummies with renewed speed.

Sam's foot caught on something and he went down, hard, but he managed to roll back onto his feet, eyes fixing once more on his target. He ducked past one mummy, knocked another out of his way, and kept running.

But the guy had already spotted him, had started to run himself. Well, to hell with that. Sam could outrun a shrimp like that any day of the week, mummies or no mummies.

In the end, it took a flying tackle to take the guy down. For such a skinny son of a bitch, he fought like a demon, but Sam had been brought up to fight real demons.

It was hard to see anything clearly in the dark, so Sam just pummelled any part of the warlock he could find. Guy was nothing more than a human with delusions of grandeur, after all.

He had to find the focus, though, the talisman that was keeping the mummies here. Break that and it was game over.

The warlock got in a lucky punch and Sam felt blood trickle down the back of his throat, the sharp sting in his nose. He ignored it, grabbing his opponent by the front of his jacket and slamming an elbow into his face.

Then he spotted it; the gaudy pendent around the guy's neck, faintly glowing. Sam grabbed it and yanked, hard, until the chain snapped.

He fell back, the talisman clutched in one hand.

Before it could be snatched back, he dropped it. It smashed across the ground, splintering into dozens of pieces. As the warlock howled in fury, Sam stamped on some of the larger pieces.

The mummies stopped their attack. Sam backed away from the warlock, seeing the very human fear on the man's face, and guessed what breaking the talisman had done.

The lines of shadowy figures, fading but still clearly visible, turned as one to face the warlock. They did not look happy and Sam scrambled backwards, trying to get out of their way. Behind the pissed off ranks, Sara was standing in front of Dean.

Sam darted around the mummies as they advanced on the warlock and went to pull Dean back to his feet.

"You broke the talisman?" Dean asked. "And, for the record, ow."

"I second your ow," Sara said, giving Sam a grin as she watched the mummies stalk towards the now-gibbering warlock. "I take it these guys weren't enjoying their servitude."

There was a blood-curdling scream and she looked away, pulling a face. "Definitely not enjoying servitude."

"So…" Dean said, turning back towards the Atwoods' home. "Who's ready for Christmas?"

xxx

It turned out that Christmas at Valhalla was actually pretty fun, once you got the bloodthirsty mummies out of the way. Will and Sara produced, as Dean had predicted, enough food to feed an army of Hunters and the company was good.

Dean had challenged Will to some sort of tournament on his Xbox, with Adrian providing a running commentary, when Sam decided to slip out for a moment's peace.

He wasn't the only person to have that idea. Sara was on the porch bench, wrapped in the dark green hoodie Dean had given her and reading a tattered paperback that lacked a cover. She glanced up when Sam opened the door, giving him a smile.

"Wait 'till they reach _Halo,_" she said. "Then it's real warfare."

"They do this every year?" Sam asked.

"Fine, ancient tradition, now in it's… fourth year, I believe. The boys play computer games, I reread _Little Princess._" She shrugged, her smile becoming more self-deprecating. "Even Hunters need a little time off."

Sam sat next to her. "I'm in thorough agreement with you there. Thanks for the book, by the way."

"I figured even if you didn't like Sherlock, it would be good for whacking Dean across the head," Sara replied.

Sam chuckled. The book in question contained the complete Sherlock Holmes stories and was almost three inches thick. "It'll be nice to read something that isn't about demons."

"Yeah, Dean mentioned you'd been poking through those copies of the Lucian diaries. Bloody awful, aren't they?"

"You do come from a seriously pessimistic family," Sam said. "There was something I wanted to ask you, though. In a lot of the diaries, they mention focuses…"

Sara nodded. "It helps with some of the more tricky exorcisms to have something to… keep you grounded. Keep you focused, hence the highly imaginative name. You won't need to worry about that kinda thing unless you want to take on bigger and badder demons, which, you know…"

"Is a valid lifestyle choice?" Sam offered.

"Well, actually I was going to say it was insane, but that works, too. I mean, you handled that pilot without breaking a sweat, so if you want to help me out, I'm not going to say no."

"It doesn't say anywhere what focuses _are. _I mean, what you use as a focus, not how you use one."

"For a Lucian, having to write down what your focus is would be like… having to write down what colour your eyes are," Sara said, with a faint chuckle. "But, just to satisfy your nosiness, it tends to be something small, personal, something you can carry around with you all the time. My mother used a small crucifix, my grandfather used a silver pocket watch. I still have the watch." She looked thoughtful. "Keeps lousy time, but apparently it was a good focus."

"What do you use?"

Sara looked down then, and if Sam didn't know her better, he'd swear she was embarrassed. Then she smiled, almost as if thinking _why not? _and pulled out a silver spiral pendent on a black cord.

"Dean gave you that," Sam said, slightly stunned. "I was there when he chose it. He asked me if I thought you'd like it and I hadn't even met you yet."

"He thinks I just wear it out of habit or something. Which is true, I suppose, in an incomplete sort of way."

Sam caught the unspoken plea – _don't tell him – _and wondered for a second if the request was because Sara thought that Dean wouldn't understand or because she knew that he would. He nodded slowly, saw Sara relax fractionally.

He'd never thought of it before, but Sara had as much right to resent him as he had to resent her. They'd both usurped the other, in a weird sort of way. And she'd watched Dean's back for all the time Sam was away. And then she'd let Sam take his place back.

Sara stood up when they heard Will crow in victory. "Will's going to be tampering with your laptop for another day or two, right? Linking it into the Hub?"

Sam nodded. Between the technological advantages he was getting from Will and the box of fake IDs from Adrian, he was ready to hunt again.

"Get him to go through the Maxwell stuff with you. You seem like an intelligent guy, I'm sure you can make something of it."

Sam had no idea what the 'Maxwell stuff' was, but that didn't change the obvious question. "Are you making Will do it because you're lazy or because you're leaving?"

"Mostly the latter," Sara said. "Possible possession a couple of states over. I promised the boys I'd be here, and here I was, so on I go."

"That was almost poetic," Sam teased.

"Well, somebody has to introduce a little oestrogen to this place. Mind you, I suppose I've got you to help me out with that now, don't I?"

Sam stuck his tongue out at her, closing his eyes. He heard her go back into the house, heard the fake explosions from the console, the teasing and snarking from the others.

It wasn't normality. Wasn't ever going to be normality. But it was more bearable that he remembered.

xxx

Please review, guys.


	5. Chapter 5

20th March, 2006,  
New York Harbour,

"You sure about this, man?" Adrian asked for the thousandth time.

Will reached under the table and smacked his brother with his cane. Pre-accident, he'd have to move over to be able to hit Adrian and he thought it was important to find the benefits in his… condition.

Adrian grumbled, rubbing his leg. "Yes, yes, fine. We'll go round the world in eighty days, or whatever. But do we have to go now?"

He'd never understand why he always had to be the adult for Adrian, even though Adrian was thirty-one and Will was a good two years younger. But really, when your brother had the ability to sound like a petulant toddler, acting like an exasperated adult was worrying easy.

"If Maxwell's telling the truth, this trip is going to work out really well for us," he said. "New allies, new techniques. Plus, you've wanted to see Europe ever since we met Sara."

"I can't believe we're leaving our home, our friends, our jobs, to see the world on the orders of man who died six months ago."

"We've done weirder things for the dead," Will pointed out, still striving for reasonability.

"We've done weirder things _to_ the dead," Adrian corrected.

"Now there's a phrase that… Actually, I don't want to think what that phrase means."

The two Atwoods looked up at the sound of the new voice to see Dean grinning at them. Will threw maturity to the wind and a pack of peanuts at Dean's head.

"Seen Sara?" Adrian asked as Dean sat down.

"She's outside with Sammy, exchanging geeky facts about… I don't know, the polite way to stab a dryad or something." Dean stole Will's beer. "So what's with the sudden desire to talk? I've known about your little trip since Christmas."

"Maybe we just wanted to say goodbye in person," Adrian said, straight-faced, but he grinned when Dean rolled his eyes. "Boy Wonder here is worried."

"Worried?" Dean repeated, then paused. "This is about Sara, right?"

"I just needed to check that you were going to continue with your stalking of our resident exorcist," Will said. "She hasn't exactly been saying a lot to us lately. I mean, she talks to us, but…"

"She doesn't say much," Dean finished. "You guys know I'll keep an eye on her, but I'm not sure there's anything to watch for. She'd tell us if she was in over her head."

"Her mother wouldn't."

"She's not her mom!" Dean snapped. "We made sure of that, remember?"

"We're not so sure," Will said. "Old man Singer told me Sara's been asking a lot of questions about Amelia in the last few months."

"So? Sammy asks a lot of questions about demons, doesn't mean he's becoming one," Dean retorted.

Adrian slapped him on the arm, gesturing with his head to where Sara and Sam had entered the bar, and the topic was dropped without another word.

Hunters did have a tendency to disappear, but normally it was a more permanent kind of disappearance and they didn't have an opportunity to have drinks first. None of them drank enough to get actually drunk; the Atwoods had to be on a boat in a few hours time and the rest of them were all up to their eyeballs in things to kill. The underworld was really starting to heat up. It happened like that sometimes, random seasons of far too many demons and ghosts. Other times, there was jack-squat going on and Dean and Adrian both went stir-crazy.

They left the bar sometime after midnight, still trading stories and old jokes, and Dean wasn't that surprised when Adrian fell back to walk by him, letting the others move slightly ahead.

"You never mentioned how you planned to get a hunter's arsenal through customs," Dean said.

Adrian huffed a laugh softly. "Sara sorted that part out. The guy who owns the ship, he's the brother-in-law of some guy she helped up a few years ago, James something-or-other." They walked in silence for a few more minutes before Adrian spoke again. "Dean, man, you know-"

"I'm not going to let anything happen to her," Dean said, soft but clearly angry. "Would you quit acting like I threw her out? She told me to go get Sam, I didn't leave her."

"Hasn't it ever occurred to you that sometimes she spends so long putting other people first that she doesn't even make it into the queue herself?"

Dean didn't answer, looking away from Adrian to where Sara was walking with Will and Sam, utterly dwarfed by the pair of them. She'd been almost jealous of the Bloody Mary thing, purely for its status as a classic urban legend, even if she was still pissed off about finding Dean's autopsy report from that thing with the shapeshifter.

"Don't we all do that every fucking day?" he said finally.

There wasn't an answer to that, at least not one that a guy like Adrian would consider to be an answer, so the question did its intended job of shutting him up. The silence wasn't exactly comfortable; they had never been more than vague allies in any way that really mattered and if not for Sara and Will, they'd never even speak.

The five of them reached the docks just as the captain was starting to get tetchy. It meant there wasn't a whole lot of time for final goodbyes, but as none of them ever actually said goodbye, that probably wasn't a bad thing.

Dean threw a casual arm around Sara's shoulders as Will and Adrian boarded the ship, an ugly cargo carrier, and raised his other hand in both farewell and a promise. It was too dark to see much, but he knew Will got the message.

"You ok?" he asked, pulling her plait as they turned away.

She twitched her hair out of his grasp. "Always am, aren't I?"

"I was thinking of lying low here in New York for a few days," Dean said. "Geek boy wants to look up some so-called experts here in town. Feel like keeping me company?"

"Can't do, Deanie-freak," Sara replied. "I promised Cal I spend some time with him."

"Hm, choosing the boyfriend over the best friend. I'm hurt, really, I am."

"God, you're such a girl," Sam put in. "Uh, no offence."

Sara gave Sam a friendly shove and pulled a face at Dean.

"Real mature there, Sara," Dean teased.

Before they went their separate ways, Sara threw a set of keys at Dean and gave Sam the password for the main Hub before pinching a few books from the box Sam kept in the back of the Impala. Giving them independence, Dean realised. No more guarantee of someone there to open the door for them in Black Earth and he hadn't even realised how used he got to that, despite his roadtripping lifestyle.

The next night, Sam used a dreamcatcher and some weird chant that Sara had shown him to ward off the nightmares that still kept him awake every other night. It took four nights of uninterrupted sleep before Dean started to wonder just when Sara had become such an expert on nightmares.

But less than a week later, it turned out that Sam's nightmare _weren't_ nightmares and the dreamcatcher did nothing against fricking _visions_.

xxx  
30th March, 2006,  
Lawrence, Kansas,

"So what do you know?" Missouri asked, putting a mug of coffee in front of him.

John idly ran a fingertip over the handle. "I know that the demon that killed Mary – and Jessica Moore – is one nasty son of a bitch. Guy I ran into called him a 'Hell-lord', whatever that means. Its name is Azazel, which isn't actually that helpful, apart to let me know that it's also an ancient bastard. It wants… something with Sam, I'm not sure what. But I know it's nothing I want to happen."

"This guy," Missouri said as she sat opposite him. "He would be Linus, right? Amelia's sweetheart?"

"If you think that term's appropriate, I suppose so." He was really quite surprised when Missouri slapped his hand. "How'd you know him?"

"I don't. Never managed to meet Amelia either, but that lady left ripples that are still giving me headaches." Missouri sat back, watching John thoughtfully. "It's good that you knew her. Maybe you'll understand what I mean when I say that she's what Sam would have been without Dean. Or what Dean would have been without Sam."

"What does that make Sara?" John asked absently.

"Well, that… That depends."

"On what?"

"Oh, all sorts of things. What you do, what Dean does… Mostly the latter, admittedly."

John smiled faintly. That did sound like the Sara he knew. "What will happen to Sam, now that he's got this power?"

"He's always had that power, John. Power that strong, you have to be born into that. But it's taken more than twenty years for it to mature."

"Is that unusual?"

"I've been able to feel and see energies since I was born. Never had to learn how to do it, just always knew. Young Sara, her sense of demons and magic, it's been part of her since the first time she faced a spirit. Now, Sam, Sam first saw a demon when he was six months old. He's been tinkering with herbs and chants since he was a teenager. If his power needed some sort of… activation, then I don't like the form it took."

John nodded silently. The death of a loved one was a powerful nudge in completely the wrong direction when it came to unnatural power. "What did you mean, when you said Sam should've been able to sense me?"

"You ever had that feeling when one of your boys walks in, when you know it's them without having to look? Sam's personal space should've extended to about two miles around him by now," Missouri said. "Unless… Oh, John, you didn't!"

He pulled out the mojo bag and shrugged. "Can't stop the bastard if he finds me first. Besides, Sara's too friendly with a psychic or two and she's not above twisting a few arms in Dean's name."

Missouri shook her head, but it was only in disapproval. They both knew John was right when it came to Sara.

"So what's the link between my boy and the thing that killed his mother? Where's it going to take us?" John asked, tucking the mojo bag away again. "I know that son of a bitch wants something with Sam, but I don't know what."

"That sort of information is well beyond me, John. I know it's nothing we want to see achieved, but you should have already worked that one out. Normally, I'd tell you to go to Maxwell." Missouri shrugged. "Not like that's an option these days. Well, unless you feel like trying to force Linus into doing your dirty work again."

"Or Sara," John said. "I'm not going to," he hastily added. "There are others ways to get that information."

"I should hope so! That girl has enough on her plate as it is, without you bullying her into messing around with that Deathwalker thing."

John shrugged. Until it was necessary, he wasn't about to send a kid into hell. But if Sara's potential ability to walk into the afterlife and talk with the dead was the only way to get answers, he was sure he could manage to arrange it.

And, judging from the way Missouri was glaring at him, she knew it too.

xxx  
10th April, 2006,  
Northern Montana,

At moments like this, speed was the important thing, not direction, so Sara drove as fast as she thought she could get away with. The parents would have to call the cops, Sara knew that, but they'd understood what was going on, what their daughter had become, and they'd said they give her some time-

But they'd agreed to that before Sara had let their daughter die.

And this really wasn't the time to be thinking about little Ellie Silverman, not when she had a truck to control and a crime scene to flee. Not when she still had the taste of the goddamn demon in the back of her thought, when she could still hear the mother's screams of grief in her mind.

Finally, when she figured she was far enough away from the town, Sara pulled the truck over in a deserted road and slid out, dragging her duffel with her. A single girl was normally left alone by cops on the lookout, but she wouldn't get far covered in blood. Stains like that made getting a motel room hell as well.

She exchanged her blood-spattered clothes for ones that she'd really wanted to wash before wearing again. A quick glance in the wing-mirror told her she still had blood across her face. And there was something else…

"Look, mate," Sara said, turning around to glare into the darkness. "I've had a really bad day and I don't have the inclination or the patience to put up with some pathetic show, alright?"

"Polite as ever, I see," came the reply.

Sara frowned. She knew that voice, but it couldn't be... "John?"

When John Winchester stepped forward, he was greeted by a handful of salt in the face and a spray of Holy Water.

"Satisfied?" he asked mildly, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Sara glared again, feeling all the more pissed off when it had absolutely no effect. "Nowhere near. What the fuck are you playing at? Do you have any idea what you've been doing to Dean?"

"Sara, I don't have a lot of time-"

"Make time! Call your goddamn son before I-"

"I spoke to Dean yesterday."

"Oh, really?" Sara laced her words with as much sarcasm as she could manage. "Well, that makes it all alright, doesn't it? I spoke to Dean, you git! Ordering him to stop some disappearance in Indiana does not count as a conversation. And, for the record, sending him nothing but those co-ordinates last time was just about the lowest thing you've ever done."

"What?"

"That asylum, remember?" Sara scoffed. "Don't screw me around, John. Like I said, I'm not feeling particularly indulgent today. Just… Just tell me what you're after this time and we can both get on with our lives."

"I need the Lucian Diaries. I went to Black Earth; no one was there."

"And you couldn't find the Diaries, I guess," Sara said, smirking just a little. She'd spent a complex couple of days sorting out a decent place to hide those texts. "So you want the disks, I take it?"

"Already took the disks, Sara."

Sara grinned. "Yeah, Will does have a way with encryptions, doesn't he?"

"Sara, I need those records."

"All you had to do was ask, Winchester. I'll give you the codes."

John looked on as Sara fished out a notebook and a pen, writing out line after line of numbers.

"You know the Purists are starting to pay more attention to you, don't you?" he said.

"Yeah. I can handle them," Sara said absently, not looking up. "Might want to give your boys the same warning. I'm betting that Sam isn't exactly normal."

"Do the Purists know about my sons?"

"Few of them might have heard about the Winchesters, but they won't find out anything more. I made sure of it." She held out the finished codes. "Pinch my stuff again and I won't be so forgiving. And stay out of my house, for that matter."

"Thank you."

"Didn't do any of it for you, John. You should know that by now."

John nodded, taking the piece of paper. "I'd advise getting the rest of that blood off your face before heading for civilisation. What happened?"

"You don't care, John, so don't ask. Oh, and give me a good reason why I shouldn't set every spook from here to Mexico on your useless arse for leaving Dean in the lurch like that."

"Can you do that?"

"Probably," Sara said, shrugging as she tipped a bottle of water over a spare t-shirt and started scrubbing the blood off her skin. "I'd rather not, for the record, but this isn't exactly the right time to playing by the rules of the Marquis de Fantailler. Oh, and there's a warlock in Louisiana who wants your head on a plate. Can't imagine why. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get far, far away."

John stopped her with a hand on her arm. "It went that badly, huh?"

"You want to worry about someone, worry about your boys," Sara said, throwing her bag back into her truck and climbing in herself. She leaned out of the window. "By the way, Sam abandoned Dean again to come looking for you. Little Sasquatch wants answers. And I hope when he finds you, he kicks the shit out of you."

xxx

Meg Masters – or the creature currently masquerading as Meg Masters – was really not in the mood for another one of these little meetings. First time out in the world for more than two decades, there was so many more interesting things that she could be doing. A little torture, a little chaos. Not… bureaucracy.

But she wasn't on earth as an independent agent. Just like the rest of these demons, she was only here because their Father thought she could be useful. Which meant she had to play along if she wanted to keep her toes out of the hellfire.

She stood to the side as they did the ritual sacrifice, slitting the throat of a weeping brunette, rolling her eyes at the sheer pomp of it all. Yeah, the blood was traditional, but the symbols and the _hours_ of chanting were so…

Tom was standing across from her and he caught her eye and pulled a face. The two of them had been working together on and off for more than three millennia and he knew better than anyone her dislike for pointless frippery.

"What news of the Winchesters?" asked Apollyon. It was weird seeing him in a human. He was too old, too set in his ways, and Meg could practically see the skin of his host writhing with the things that crawled across his _real_ skin. And he was the only one that dared to use his real name in this dimension. All the others just stole the names of their hosts, discarding the names along with the bodies when they were done. But not Apollyon.

"John's still missing. We've been picking off those who could help him," said a lower demon, one that hadn't even been allowed out last time.

"And the boys?"

"Nearly managed to split them up in Indiana," Meg said, keeping her posture offensively nonchalant just to piss Apollyon off. Just because he was currently Azazel's favourite was no reason for her to play nice. "Sam went back to Dean at the last minute. I think if we want Sam alone, getting rid of Dean is far more important than getting rid of John."

"If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it," Apollyon snapped. "Our Lord does not think that killing the spare Winchester boy will help."

"As he wishes," Meg murmured. Pissing off Apollyon was one thing; pissing off Azazel was unthinkable.

"What of the Winchesters' allies?"

"We're keeping an eye on the priest in Minnesota, the man in South Dakota. There's a psychic in Kansas that could cause some trouble. The two hunters from Black Earth have left the country, so they won't be a problem."

Meg listened with half an ear to the list. It wasn't that long; there weren't that many hunters any more and most of them don't give a toss about any of the others. Just the way she liked it.

"Sir?" Tom said at the end, making Meg look around in interest. They'd been siblings in the time before their Awakening and even back then, he'd been kinda monosyllabic. "There's someone we haven't considered. The Lucian."

"The Lucian is dead."

"There's one left. A girl, different to the others." Tom glanced across at her and Meg knew exactly who she'd be hunting down once this meeting was over. "And she's close to the Winchesters. She was in Palo Alto the night after Our Lord was, she knew Maxwell, she's been working to shield Sam from the other hunters. She knows too much, even if she doesn't realise it."

"She's only a human," said one of the other demons.

"Yeah, a mere human who's already sent almost a dozen of us back to hell," Meg put in loudly.

"Not to mention what'll happen if she figures out the side effects of what she does," Tom added.

Apollyon held up one hand, instantly silencing the group. "Tom, Meg, follow the girl. If you can kill her subtly, do so, but don't draw attention to yourselves. The Winchesters must not know of our Lord until he wishes it."

Tom and Meg bowed slightly before Tom spoke again. "What if she realises she's being followed? She's been hunting us for five years; she knows the signs."

"Do what you feel is necessary."

Meg couldn't help the slight smile that touched her lips. She loved that command. And the assignment was a good one as well. The only thing better would be to get another crack at the Winchester boys.

_Gather the lesser demons. _

Every demon in the room, including Apollyon, fell to their knees as Azazel's voice echoed in their minds. They needed a bowl of blood to reach him, but he just had to think about it to be able to reach them.

_Throw them at the girl, let her exorcise a thousand of them. The knowledge they burn into her skull will kill her. Or it will corrupt her._

You had to give it to Azazel, Meg thought. He always had a backup plan.

_Yes, I do. Now get to work._

The demons were gone before their ears had stopped ringing.

xxx

Apologies for the delay in posting. Reviews are greatly appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

xxx  
8th May, 2006,  
Nebraska,

Sixth months on the road, it seemed, had been more than enough to eradicate Sam Winchester, college boy extraordinaire, from the world. The Sam Winchester who walked confidently through the corridors of Stanford would never have been able to justify the trading of lives.

But Sam knew that was only because in the three years he'd been that Sam Winchester, it had never been his brother's life on the line. And Sam was more okay with this situation that Dean was, which he thought said far too much about his brother's sense of self worth.

Mind you, Sara had made it pretty damn obvious that she was on Sam's side about this. He still wasn't entirely sure what she'd been doing at Roy's, but her relief at seeing Dean healed made Sam really not bothered by the minor details. The time she'd spent playing mediator had also been seriously appreciated.

But the case was solved, the reaper was gone and it was time to move on. After Dean finished talking to Layla, they'd be out of this town. But for Dean to actually speak to Layla, Sam and Sara had to be elsewhere.

'Elsewhere' turned out to be outside the motel, by Sara's truck, as she dug ancient tomes out from under the passenger seat. Bobby would shoot her if he knew how she was treating the _Grimoire_.

"So what were you doing here?" Sam asked. "Did Josh tell you? You got here before we did."

"Just a coincidence, Sasquatch," Sara replied. "I just thought Roy was worth looking in to. I mean, come on. A real faith healer? Faith doesn't do anything."

"It can help."

"Maybe, but not in the curing-cancer way." She backed out of the truck. "If you want that book, you'll have to get it. I can't reach, but maybe your monkey-arms are good for something after all."

Sam grinned and moved forward to try and grab the right book. It was an awkward angle and he couldn't see what the hell he was grasping at.

"Heard you took care of that possessed student without any difficulty," Sara said. "How are you finding the fallout? You know, you'll build up some resistance eventually-"

"Not a problem for me," Sam said, twisting a little to reach another way. "I mean, I was kinda run down afterwards, but I wasn't sick or anything."

"Seriously?"

Sam pulled back to be able to look at her. She didn't sound disbelieving, which would have annoyed him, just… surprised. Maybe even shocked.

"You are using the ritual I showed you, right?" Sara asked, frowning even more when Sam nodded. "I don't suppose you mother was a psychic, was she?"

"What?"

If Sara had heard the sharp tone in his voice, she didn't react. "Well, my grandfather had this theory that a bit of psychic in your family tree would help negate the effects of an exorcism. And my mother had a much easier time of this whole deal than I ever did."

"You're psychic?"

"Not really. Weird vibes, a good sense of who's possessed and who's not, that's about it. And I spent two years puking my guts out after every exorcism."

"Are you just cranky because I'm not suffering?"

"Probably. Look, I don't mean to pry. But this stuff, it is kinda the only thing that ever mattered to my family. You can't blame me for being curious."

"Well, I don't have any answers. Just an odd sense of thankfulness. Dean kept telling me about all the crappy fallouts you've had."

"Did he mention the time I threw up on his boots?"

"Twice."

Sara chuckled. "Son of a… Next time you feel like ruffling his feathers, ask Dean about the demonic rat things."

At long last, Sam managed to reach the right book. "What other stories can I get in exchange for not telling Bobby where I found this two-hundred year old book on demonology?"

"Oh, Sasquatch, you're forgetting one crucial fact. I know what happened to your copy." She gave him a bright, smug smile.

He was just about to reply when Layla walked out of the motel.

Sara glanced over at him again. "Mind giving me a few minutes to slap some sense into your brother?"

xxx

Dean didn't turn around when he heard the door open again. There were only two people who it could be and he didn't feel like seeing either of them just then.

"So when are you going to forgive him?" Sara asked, apparently not at all bothered by talking to his back. "Mind you, I'm fairly certain that forgiveness isn't the issue here. You should be able to get why he did it. So when are you gonna to let it go?"

"Someone's dead 'cause of me. Don't see how I'm supposed to just let that go," Dean replied shortly.

"People die on hunts all the time. Sometimes all you can do is kill the thing that's responsible and you boys did exactly that. It's no different. Besides, I know you would've done a hell of a lot more to keep Sam alive if your positions had been reversed."

"That's different."

"Why? Cause it's Sam? Cause somehow you're not worth as much as your pain in the ass little brother? Bullshit."

Dean flung his half-packed bag aside and spun around, furious.

But the look on Sara's face made him pause. She glanced down at her feet after a few seconds.

"Just 'cause you're okay with your dying doesn't mean the rest of us are," she said finally, looking at him again. "That should mean something, right?"

Dean couldn't think what to say. He sucked at conversations like this, but these days they seemed to be the only sort of conversations he had with his best friend. Nothing was ever just the normal day-to-day stuff. It was always more complicated than that.

"So how about you just call me when you're okay with all this? I mean, I'm just as guilty as Sam."

"Because you wouldn't have stopped him?" Dean asked.

Sara hesitated at the door and that was enough to make him kinda suspicious. "Because I didn't stop him," she said finally. "Come on, Dean. I was here for four days before you arrived. Do you seriously think I didn't realise something wrong was happening here?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I talked to Roy, the day before you arrived. I just wanted to see if I could sense any demonic energy or magic after-effects or whatever, so I told him I was a reporter, but I think he knew what I was there for. He told me to come back the next day and I did and you were there. And I let you go up there. So if you want to blame someone, blame me. Sam didn't know there was anything wrong there. I did."

"Why would you-"

"Don't you ask me that, Dean. Don't you dare."

"Sara-"

She slammed the door hard enough to make it shake.

xxx

It was almost a day later before Sara's phone rang,_ Dean_ spelled out across the tiny screen. With a sigh, she turned off the radio and grabbed the phone. Good thing she was used to driving and arguing at the same time…

"I'm still not sorry," she said, bypassing any attempt to avoid the problem at hand that Dean might have tried.

"Yeah, I know," came the reply. "It's okay."

"Wow. You came to that conclusion in twenty-four hours? That has to be some sort of record. Didn't we agree that Sam was to do all the thinking for you two?"

"Probably. I never should've introduced you to him. You're always ganging up against me."

"Not to split hairs, Dean, but you didn't introduce us. Bobby did; you were too busy trying to make solid silver bullets, remember?"

"Hey, that nearly worked."

"You didn't even get close," Sara corrected.

"Hey, Sara? What did you mean when you said that Roy knew why you were there?"

"He kinda reminded me of Maxwell, knew what I was going to say before I said it. And he told me you were on your way. Why?"

"He told me I had something important to do. A job or a duty or something, something that wasn't finished yet."

Sara smiled, glad Dean couldn't see her. "Doesn't sound so bad."

"I don't know. Doesn't it sound sort of… destiny-ish?"

"Oh, we have a destiny now, do we?" Sara said. "Aren't we the special one?"

"Stuff it, Sara."

"Sorry. But you don't believe in destiny. You once told me that you were put on this earth to do whatever the fuck you wanted, a view which Pastor Jim is still worried about."

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't have said that in front of him."

Faintly, Sara heard Sam in the background, a door closing, quiet brotherly insults.

"Dean, I can't even pretend to understand what Roy was talking about. But if you do have a destiny, then isn't it going to turn up whatever happens? I mean, you can keep on doing what you want."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Another long pause, but not awkward because there was years of friendship there.

"Dean?" Sara said finally. "Roy said something to me too. He said all this was going to get worse before it got better. But I've already worked that out on my own."

"How much worse?"

Sara didn't know how to answer that question, she really didn't. Her own theories and beliefs were too dark, too hopeless. She didn't want to tell Dean she thought they were all going to die, alone and scared and beaten. But she couldn't lie to him either.

"We've been so lucky, Dean," she said finally. "So damn lucky. We should all be dead a dozen times over and this life isn't getting any easier. And I can't shake the feeling that our luck's running out."

"We'll be okay," Dean said. But he spoke too soon and Sara knew he was just saying it to try and help her. "We're not just lucky, we're good. And nothing's going to change that."

"Dean, it's more complicated than that. More ghosts, more monsters, way too many demons, more than I've dealt with in my whole life. I'm constantly tracking down a possessed host and there could be dozens that I don't even know about."

"We're gonna be okay, Sara."

"How?"

"Cause we're not going to let it be any other way, right?"

Sara sighed. She wanted to argue, she wanted to be strong and sensible and God knows what else, but sometimes she really was still the scared kid Dean had first taken hunting. "Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

But she couldn't help wondering which one of them Dean was hoping to convince.

xxx  
27th May, 2006,  
Black Earth, Wisconsin

_Please enter search parameters…_

Sam frowned at the computer screen. He'd already tried _psychic, telekinesis, visions,_ all with no decent results to speak of. The Hub was a good computer system, but it did have access to a hell of a lot of information. Well, he'd just have to narrow it down. Somehow.

The easiest thing to do would be to call Sara or email Will, ask them for a few ways to get the best results out of this machine. The only problem was, neither Sara nor the Atwoods knew anything about his… talents. Or should that be curse? And if the fricking visions weren't enough, he now had the ability to move things with his mind.

"You find anything yet?" Dean yelled down the stairs.

"Nothing useful," Sam called back, thoughtfully running his hands over the keyboard. He'd already researched Max Miller, tracking him all the way back to preschool, and that hadn't resulted in any new information, except for the fact that Mrs Miller had died in '84, not '83.

But how about…

_Search: FIRE, SUSPICIOUS, NURSERY, 1983-1984. _

The Hub buzzed and whirred around him as he waited for the search to finish. It would take time, but he had a stack of files to work his way through and he was buried in a list of possible witches and warlocks when the computer beeped loudly.

Plenty of results, as well there might have been, but not the one he'd been expecting. Sam frowned and went back to the search programme.

_Search: Mary Winchester, November 2nd 1983. _

Another wait, this one much shorter, and a few results, but nothing about his own nursery fire.

In pure confusion, Sam just ran the basic person search for Mary Winchester. A death certificate came up, the right date, definitely the right woman, but the COD wasn't burning. It was a heart attack.

Dean was still eating when Sam came up out of the basement twenty minutes later. His big brother might hate the whole white-picket-fence idea, but Sam knew that a decent kitchen always went down well with Dean.

"We can hang around for a few days, see if Sara turns up," Dean said through a mouthful of homemade BLT as he shoved a second sandwich towards Sam. It was a Dean BLT, about 90% meat with mere shreds of vegetable.

"Yeah, okay." He turned towards the kitchen table, only to give up on the idea of sitting down when he saw their vast collection of weapons spread out across the wooden surface.

"Doesn't Sara mind you doing that?" he asked, leaning against one of the counters instead.

"Hasn't complained yet."

And, indeed, when Sara turned up the next morning, she didn't even seem to notice the newly-colonised kitchen table. That could have had something to do with the fact that she couldn't move one of her arms properly. Dean's almost-impressed swearing had been Sam's first clue that Sara was even back.

When Sam reached the kitchen, he could see Dean's point. Sara's left arm didn't seem to have much skin left on it, not to mention the burn stretching between her wrist and elbow.

"-so quit fussing," Sara said as Sam walked it. "It was just a fire elemental."

"Cool," Sam said because he could see the faint signs of stress and anger on Dean's face. "How did you get rid of it?"

A look of faint embarrassment crossed Sara's face. "Well, when it grabbed me, I kinda... I fell into a pond."

Dean snorted with laughter, still checking over the burn. Sam could see the remnants of old bandages to one side, Sara had obviously got her arm treated properly, but then Dean never did trust doctor's assessments.

"So did you two just get fed up with motel beds or what?" Sara asked when Dean had finally let go of her arm and rewrapped it for her.

"I wanted to ask you something about the Hub," Sam answered. "It is possible to edit information on it, isn't it?"

"Sure. Will makes a lot of money hiding the criminal records of Hunters. Why?"

"Does he ever just delete records?"

"Nope. It's too suspicious. The best he can do is a bit of editing, alter the date, the description, COD, whatever's required." Sara flexed her hand experimentally. "And, once again, I ask, why?"

"Because someone's tampered with my mom's death certificate." Sam kept his gaze fixed steadily on Sara. He'd inherited that glare from his father.

Of course, Sara had been glared at by the real John Winchester and she didn't seem at all fazed when she crossed her arms and calmly replied, "Yeah, that was Will. At my request, of course."

"Jesus," Dean muttered. "Sara, tell me you had a good reason for this."

"Of course I had a good reason, you idiot!" Sara snapped back. "When the situation for hunters gets worse, it's the freaks who suffer. And I don't mean just the witches and warlocks, I mean the seers and the psychics. Which, in case you think I haven't figured it out, includes your little brother."

"Why would you think that?" Sam asked, shooting for confident and missing it completely.

"Because despite what everyone seems to think, I am good at my job. This demon or whatever it is, it came after you twice. That would be reason enough for certain Purists to want you dead. Not to mention how you can perform just about any exorcism without so much as headache afterwards! No one should be able to do that, not with the kind of exorcism I taught you!" Sara took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Plus, Dean really is a terrible liar when it comes to me."

"Sara, it's complicated," Dean said. It wasn't an explanation, not even close, but Sam knew Dean wouldn't say any more without his okay, and that was a long time coming. If it was ever coming.

Sara shrugged. "I'm not going to ask pointed questions about something that you don't want to tell me. But I am going to do everything in my power to help you guys out and if you have a problem with that, then get the fuck out of my house."

Dean looked down, clearly embarrassed if you knew him well enough.

"Okay," Sam said softly. "We get it. Really. But that doesn't explain why you didn't tell us about the others."

"Other? What others?"

"You didn't know about Max Miller?" Sam said.

"If I say 'who', will you finally understand that I have no idea what you're talking about?"

"There was this guy," Dean said. "Max Miller. He was killing his family, we thought it was a curse or spirit or something. But he told Sam that his mom died the same way ours did."

"But when I looked him up on the Hub, there was no record of a nursery fire, nothing."

"One woman dying in a freak accident doesn't always make the papers, Sasquatch," Sara said.

"Yeah, but there wasn't even a death certificate."

Sara paused, opened her mouth, closed her mouth and then strode off towards the basement door. Once in the basement, Sam and Dean found places to perch while Sara ducked under one of the tables.

"Fun fact for you, Sasquatch," she said as she stood up and sat in front of the main computer. "The Hub keeps a record of all original files accessed and any changes made to them completely separate to the official records out there."

"Will's way of keeping track?" Sam asked.

Sara nodded. "Can't hide your tracks if you can't find them first. Besides, it never hurts to have something to use against hunters."

"After the first murder attempt, Adrian made it pretty clear that if anything happens to Will, all of the information he hid will get sent straight to the Feds," Dean added. "Just in case anyone else thought of covering their tracks a little too thoroughly."

"Are all hunters really that bad?" Sam asked.

"Of course not. But it helps to view them in two groups: those you trust with your life and those you should never take your eyes off. It's not hard to figure out which group makes up the majority," Sara said, eyes fixed on the computer screen. "I know of maybe three dozen hunters by name. Out of those, I trust under a dozen to help me out. Everyone else might as well be a demon for all the help they give me."

"Which category is my dad in?"

Sara frowned at him. "Don't start, Sasquatch. Oh, hang on… Got it. Mrs Miller's death certificate. No remains found, assumed cause of death is asphyxiation due to smoke inhalation and severe burns. Sounds about right, doesn't it?"

"Can you compare the date of date to Max's date of birth?" Sam asked, ignoring the warning look Dean flashed him.

"Six months exactly, just like you." Seeing the boys' expressions, she rolled her eyes again. "Oh, come on. That was easy to figure out."

"That confirms what Max told you," Dean said to his brother. "We've got a pattern."

"Two's a line, not a pattern," Sara retorted. "There are more deleted entries here. I'm trying to… Shit!"

"What?"

"Someone's been through the backups, deleting most of them." She hit a few more keys. "That son of a bitch!"

"Which one?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Well, there are only five people who knew about the backups. You, me, Will, Adrian and John. And it seems that these records were accessed just before John came to me for the Lucian diaries. He even told me he'd been in Black Earth. Without any one to watch the Hub…"

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't think he'd be covering up for the demon, so maybe he's just covering his own back." Sara looked at Sam. "Or yours. If I could figure part of this out, so could someone else."

"Is there any way of getting those records back?"

"Will might be able to, but there's no way I can do it. We wouldn't even have the info on Mrs Miller if there hadn't been a power cut while John was here. I spent three days recreating the security system, so I remember the date."

"But there were more records," Dean said thoughtfully. "So I guess we can expect more of these kids."

Sara shrugged again. "Hardly my place to comment on such things. And if you've both quite finished accusing me of… whatever it was, I'm due elsewhere."

Sam flushed, ashamed, as Sara hurried up the stairs, letting the door swing shut behind her. Dean looked similarly uncomfortable and he was standing up mere moments after Sara was gone. He left without saying anything, but Sam knew more than enough to just stay where he was. In their family, they never let harsh words be final words. They had enough bad luck as it was.

xxx

Sara flung her duffel into the back of her truck, yanked open the driver's side door and then her anger suddenly ran out. She didn't need this, not from John, definitely not from Dean, and if she didn't get a grip right that minute, she was going to start bawling like a little kid.

"I just didn't want you to worry."

She turned to face Dean, fond amusement fighting with irritation, the standard combination when dealing with her best friend. "You're about seven years too late for that."

"I know. And I'm sorry."

"Dean, I swear, I was only trying to keep you safe. I don't want anyone hunting Sam."

"Is it really going to come to that?"

"Depends on how many people, or which people, work out what he can do, whatever that may be. But it might blow over. It has before."

"Are you safe?"

"So far as I can be, yeah. There are some guys running interference for me and not many people know about this place."

"But you're not okay."

"Dean… I haven't been 'okay' in a long time." She shrugged. Dean was really starting to hate that motion. "This'll pass, like everything else. Just… Just stay safe. Please."

"This whole thing's really freaked you out, hasn't it?"

"I don't give a rat's arse about what Sam can do. Provided he isn't sacrificing virgins, it doesn't matter. Doesn't change who he is. But what's going to happen to him because of all this? That really does scare me."

"You don't even really like the guy," Dean said, honestly confused.

Sara shook her head slightly, mostly in disbelief. "But, my dear idiot, whatever or whoever comes after him is going to have to go through you first."

Dean paused, remembering Nebraska, remembering Sara's anger which he had recognised even then as merely being a mask for real terror, remembering her confession that she'd had the chance to stop the Reaper and hadn't. After all that, not to mention all the stupid stunts she pulled in three years of working with him, something as harmless as fudging a few records was hardly surprising.

"I guess I just don't understand that," he said softly, and they both knew he wasn't talking about his suicidal protective tendencies.

"Maybe you don't need to understand it to be able to put up with it." Sara gave him a final smile and climbed into the truck, pulling the door shut after her.

Dean took a step back as she started up the truck. It wasn't like his dad's, but just a simple black Ford Ranger. She used to own a motorbike and Dean could remember how much she'd loved that machine, but it wasn't strictly practical. He wished that didn't matter so much.

He stayed where he was until the truck was out of sight, then headed back in. Sara was right; this situation, the demon, the visions, all of it, was going to end badly. Really badly. And, realistically, the only way he'd get the kinda answers he needed would be to track down his dad and make him talk, which was never going to happen. So until something else happened, something that could point him in the right direction, he'd just have to play it by ear.

It was a good thing that he'd always been good at bullshitting his way through anything.


	7. Chapter 7

22nd July, 2006,  
Hibbings, Minnesota,

Sam took another quick sip of beer before starting to speak. "So, local police have not ruled out foul play. Apparently, there were signs of a struggle."

"Well, they could be right; it could just be a kidnapping. Maybe this isn't our kind of gig," Dean replied, eyes fixed on the dartboard.

"Yeah, maybe not. Except for this – Dad marked the area, Dean. Possible hunting grounds of a phantom attacker," he said, turning the journal round for Dean to see.

"Do you guys always have these conversations in such a public place?" Sara asked. She was standing by the dartboard, grinning at the pair of them.

"Well, we haven't actually said anything suspicious yet," Dean replied.

"You were getting there." Sara sat down when Sam shoved a stool at her. "Well, this looks like fun."

"Missing people. Lots of them, maybe not because of anything we normally deal with. How come you're here?" Sam asked.

"Dean calls, I come running. Same old, same old."

"Oh, come on, little Lucian. Day after tomorrow's a big day for you, right?" Dean said, taking another shot at the dartboard. "Twenty five years old and still as cranky as the day you were born."

Sara flipped him off. "Of all my family's pointless traditions, why won't you let this one go?"

"Birthdays are somehow unique to your family?" Sam asked, sharing a grin with Dean when Sara rolled her eyes.

"Seven years of actively fighting the good fight," she explained. "Don't ask me why it's important, but it is. Or would be, if I wasn't the only Lucian left. And I really wish I'd never mentioned it."

"Not to split hairs, but it was your mom who mentioned it," Dean said with another grin.

"Oh, yes. Yet another thing to thank my sainted mother for," Sara remarked sourly.

"Dean's really just after the birthday cake," Sam said idly, relieved when Sara chuckled.

"You due anywhere or…"

Sara gestured vaguely. "Bobby wants to see me before the end of the week, but for all I know, that's just about my demonic playmates. I figured I could help with some of the legwork on your case or something."

"All work and no play…" Sam said.

"I prefer to think of it as Good being ever vigilant," Sara replied loftily, ruining the mature air when she giggled.

"Regardless, it's gonna be your twenty-fifth birthday and we are going to do something fun," Dean said.

"My kind of fun or your kind of fun?" Sara asked. "'Cause you're the one who found an invasion of gremlins entertaining. And let us not forget the time when you set fire to a wooden beam without first considering fire's impressive ability to spread."

"That was years ago," Dean protested.

"But you're still a pyromaniac now," Sam added.

"Whose side are you on?" Dean demanded, mock-serious, but it was drowned out when both Sam and Sara burst into laughter.

xxx.

Lee stood motionless in the shadow of their truck. Jared was on the other side, out of sight, but he knew his brother was there. They'd done this enough times for him to know exactly what was going to happen, even if he couldn't see it.

They hadn't taken anyone from this bar before, they never used the same place twice, but he knew which civilian they were after. The tall one, college-boy look-a-like. It was annoying that he wasn't travelling alone – Lee would've loved to drive that Chevy – but folk ran off by themselves all the time.

"You're such a geek, Sasquatch." The voice, young, female, accented, rang out across the deserted lot.

Lee leant forward marginally, just enough to see the college boy and… a pretty redhead, walking together towards the sweet black Chevy. He glanced back when Jared nudged him. They didn't often grab two folk at once, but a young couple could easily run off together.

"Like you're not?" the college boy replied, sounding amused. "I'm just saying, once you get into the right mindset, Maxwell's stuff makes a lot more sense."

They'd only brought the one tranq dart, Lee realised as he took the rifle from Jared. He was a better shot than his big brother. Mind you, if Jared couldn't take care of one little girl, something was seriously wrong.

Jared nodded towards the girl and slipped off out of sight again. He'd be ready whenever Lee was.

The girl in question left the boy's side, heading over to a truck parked a little way from the Chevy, as Lee carefully took aim.

"Well, if you've got any insight, I'd love to hear it," the girl said, still rummaging through the front of her truck. "I've been trying to-"

Lee pulled the trigger, the dart hitting the boy squarely in the middle of his back.

The girl whirled around, diving to one side and rolling just as Jared lunged at her. She scrambled back to her feet, taking the opportunity to kick Jared in the face before he could stand up again. Damn good reflexes for a civilian.

"Dean!" she yelled, way too loudly. If anyone came out of the bar now, they were so screwed…

Lee leapt forward and smashed her across the face. She fell back, but a booted foot smacked into his knee as she did so. This one was a fighter and Lee could appreciate that even as his knee protested. Jared gave the girl another few blows to the head to make sure, and then the two brothers stood, breathing a little faster than normal, and smiled at each other.

This was going to be fun.

xxx

Dean stepped out of the bar barely five minutes later, pausing for a second to get the stench of sweat and cigarette smoke out of his nostrils before heading around to where the cars were parked.

He passed a row of bikes that Sara must've spent a minute or two drooling over, half-surprised not to see her standing by them, examining them with the same attention to detail that most girls reserved for expensive clothes.

But Sara wasn't there. Nor was Sam, and Dean didn't mean just not by the bikes. They weren't by the car or Sara's truck. Weren't there.

"Sam!" he called, not bothering to hide his irritation. "Sara!"

Dean pulled out his phone, cursing. If this was some kinda joke, he was going to kill the pair of them. He scrolled down to Sara's number and hit dial.

And spun around when he heard Sara's ringtone coming from under her truck. He practically had to lie on his stomach to be able to reach the damn phone, but that was nothing compared to his outright disbelief when his fingers brushed canvas. Carefully, he drew out Sara's backpack.

From that angle, he could see the muddy, trodden remains of Sam's meticulous notes, half buried under the Impala. And… Dean sighed, hand closing around the familiar leather cover of his Dad's journal.

Sam wasn't in the habit of leaving the journal anywhere, never mind in the mud under the car. The same went for Sara's backpack.

Dean took a deep breath. He'd let them out of his sight, in fucking Missing Person Central. Whatever this thing was, it moved fast. Taking out two Hunters in a matter of minutes… No wonder they hadn't found any reports from people who got away. A civilian wouldn't stand a chance.

But Sam and Sara would. Even if he treated them both like incompetent rookies most of the time, he knew they were damn good at what they did.

And, luckily for him, what they did included surviving.

He gathered up the scattered possessions, tossing them all into the back of the Impala, before locking up Sara's truck. When Dean turned around, he caught sight of the traffic cam pointing right at the lot.

That'd help.

xxx

A loud crash woke Sam.

He lay still, trying to assess through the after-effects of one hell of a pharmacological hangover. When another crash made his whole head shake, he gave up on that and opened his eyes.

"Hey, Sasquatch? Are you awake this time?"

Sam recognised that voice and turned his head to look at Sara through… bars? What the hell?

He sat up. "Cages?"

"Yeah," came the reply and Sam could recognise that type of annoyance. "Custom made, by the look of it. Don't try to stand up; they're too small even for me."

"And the crashing?"

"Your girlfriend doesn't seem to like the accommodation."

Sam turned to face the new voice, relaxing marginally when he recognised the face from the Missing Person's Report. "Jenkins, right?"

The man, who looked as grubby as you'd expect after a couple of days in a cage, nodded.

There was another crash. Sam glanced over; Sara was hanging onto the top of her own cage, swinging her booted feet at the door.

"Do you seriously think that'll help?" Jenkins asked.

"More so than just sitting around waiting for them to do God knows what to us," Sara shot back.

Sam recognised an old argument when he heard one and left Sara to it as he started his own assessment. The cages were definitely human-made – that is, made by something with opposable thumbs – but that didn't mean anything. The bars were close together, but Sam might be able to slip a hand through if he didn't mind losing most of the skin on his knuckles. Beyond that, there were just wooden walls, old straw on the floor. Nothing that looked weird in that old black magic kinda way, no sign of any weapon or any way out. Nothing but three cages.

"Have you seen anything?" he asked.

"Sod all," Sara said. "But I'm not so sure this is our kind of problem, Sasquatch. When was the last time you saw a… entity use a tranq gun?"

"Is that how they got you?"

Sara turned her head so Sam could see the early signs of bruising across her temple and cheek. "One of them jumped me. Dean's never going to let me live this down."

"Are you okay?"

"Bitch of a headache, but no concession. I'll live." She settled herself against the far wall of her cage, facing Sam. "For the moment, at least."

"Yeah, well, don't die on me," Sam said, falsely flippant. "Dean'll be pissed if we're not both here when he finds us."

He caught a glimpse of Sara's smile just before Jenkins snorted.

"Your friend isn't going to find any of us," he said. "We're in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of psycho freaks. Mind you, I'm a little relieved to see that these guys know a pretty girl when they see one."

"You don't talk about her like that," Sam snapped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sara barely reacted to the comment or its implications. Of course; she would've already thought of that, even if it was a truly disgusting thought. But he was a little heartened by the mutter of _'Goddamn protective males'_ that reached his ears.

But the moment of relief was destroyed when the door to the room slammed open. Sam twisted to face the doorway, not missing the way that Sara scooted back in her cage just a little bit.

Sam effortlessly switched into Hunter Mode, assessing the two figures who stood in front of the cages. Both held rifles, both were masked. Sam supposed that would be enough to intimidate a normal person. Not being normal had never seemed so attractive before.

He shifted forward slightly, getting ready to act if either of the men were stupid enough to open his cage. Unfortunately, they weren't that stupid. But they did let him see how they opened Jenkins' cage to toss some food in – by some of control box on the wall.

"Electric locks," Sara muttered once the two men had gone. "There's no way we can pick them open."

"But the fun thing about technology is that it's so damn fragile," Sam replied. The wire from the control box went up the pole to the ceiling, snaking along towards him and right there…

With a little bit of creative stretching, he managed to grab the loose wire and started to pull.

xxx

Lying your way into a official building was never easy, not even when you had the right badge, the right suit, the right mindset. Maintaining that sort of concentration was hard for Dean at the best of times; right now, it was nearly impossible.

But it was necessary. Getting in to the County Works Office would get him the footage from that camera he'd seen last night, getting that footage would show him what had taken his people and from there… well, it was only a matter of time before he found this evil son of a bitch and put it down.

The footage, when he finally found it, wasn't as good as he'd hoped. Instead of a constant recording, he had a pile of images, each a few seconds apart. And the view wasn't even of the whole parking lot.

But… Dean flicked through the images until he found a grimy shot of the Impala pulling away and started working his way backwards. There was nothing but an old camper van. The time was right, just a few minutes before Dean had come out of the bar to find his people missing.

Frowning, Dean flipped back another few minutes. At the very edge of the picture, he could see one half of Sara's truck. And crouched by it… A figure. Monsters and spirits didn't need to hide behind trucks. So that meant… humans? Or just something that looked human?

Either way, they seemed to drive a beat up camper van.

Scribbling down the registration, Dean reached for the footage from the next camera along. Now he just had to figure out where the bastards had gone.

xxx

These two were going to be trouble. At least, that was what Jared thought. He knew Lee only thought about the fun side of the hunt, and his Dad wasn't as focused as he used to be. Missy was a hellcat, no doubt about that, but she didn't hunt, didn't know the difference between entertaining prey and those who would try to turn the tables on their hunters.

In more'n a decade of picking his prey, Jared had never seen a pair like these two. Both had been armed, the girl with a set of beautiful knives that Missy had taken, the boy with a gun, well-cared for, obviously treasured.

A good hunter valued his tools, that's what Pa always said. So these two were hunters. And the girl had managed to give both him and his brother a few bruises. Lord only knew what the big fellow would have done if they hadn't managed to take him out first.

The guy was already trying to bust out. He wouldn't, nor would the girl with her incessant kicking; those cages had held for years and got checked over before each and every hunting season. They'd built three cages, even had them all full before, but they hadn't snatched two people together at the same time. Jared didn't like it. Taking two folk who were together, who obviously knew each other, it caused too much attention.

But they'd done it, and now he just had to keep it all under control. And the easiest way to do that would be to keep to the plan.

From where he stood, he could see through a gap in the barn wall. The best view was of the girl's cage, but he could see the boy, still trying to pull the loose wire down. The wire didn't do anything, as far as Jared knew it wasn't even connected to anything, but pretty soon the boy would pull it loose and when he did…

Jared saw the puff of dust, heard a faint clunk. It seemed the boy was stronger than he'd figured, or way more determined. Either way, it was time for the fun to begin.

He hit the button on the spare control, watching the cages, waiting for the shock to wear off. Just as it always did. He saw Jenkins' back as the man scrambled out of his cage.

Smiling to himself, Jared turned away from the barn. The hunt was on, and he wasn't going to miss a moment of it.

xxx

"So what do you think they are?" Sam asked finally, long after Jenkins' scream had died away.

"What?"

"What are they?" he repeated. He knew it wasn't that important, not until they got out of these fucking cages, but anything was better than silence.

"My money's on demon-worshippers. Like those sick freaks up in Indiana, that scarecrow thing you boys took care of," Sara said. "Humans snatch victims, keep them till the right time, then let them lose for the monster to tear them to shreds in its sacred forest or something."

"Is it that common?"

"Much more common than I'd like. Demon-worshippers tried to sacrifice my mother once. It was my first hunt with Dean. Fuckers wanted the heart of a hunter and the blood of an exorcist." She chuckled softly. "Didn't get either, of course."

"Only you could make that sound like a happy memory."

"Hey, I saved my mum's life, earned my place in this world and met my best friend all at once. Could've been a lot worse. I could've been locked in a cage by a goddamn hillbilly, for starters."

"Not that you're bitter."

"Hey, Sasquatch? If they come for you, you know what to do, right? Don't let them force you into their game. Make them play yours."

"Yeah. I know."

Sara smiled, nodding slightly. "Good. 'Cause when they make the mistake of letting us out of these cages, I want these bastards to get what's coming to them."

Sam smiled back. He wasn't used to being the prey and he didn't intend to indulge the habit for one second longer than he had to.

They didn't have any weapons. They were in cages. They didn't know what the hell was going on.

But he knew he wasn't about to play this game.


	8. Chapter 8

xxx

A full day of searching, half a dozen back-water dumps and Dean was more than ready for some violence. Sam and Sara could be anywhere in a fifty mile radius.

But if he was methodical, he'd find them. Eliminate every place they weren't until he found the place where they were. Easy as that.

And he was having to dedicate far too much energy to ignoring certain facts. Like how many people had gone missing from around here. Like how none of them had never come back. Like how often people went missing because of something supernatural and how common it was for nothing to ever be found of them.

Dean pulled the Impala over when he spotted the private road. This was the only plan he had. He'd keep searching. Even when he'd exhausted his little perimeter, he'd keep searching. And if he couldn't find his people, his family, he'd find what did this to them and make damn sure it suffered.

First, though, he was going to search this dump from top to bottom.

The road was little more than a strip of mud leading through dense forest. There must have been more details that that, but daylight was already starting to fade. So many sick rituals took place at night. At least it wasn't a full moon. Dean didn't think he'd be able to stand that sort of deadline hanging over him.

Eventually, the woods thinned out a little and the road widened out into a yard. Dean was seriously starting to doubt that anyone had even been here in years. The house looked like it was about to fall down. Mind you, at least it still had its entire roof; the barn couldn't claim the same.

Dean stuck to the edge of the woods as he made his way around the yard to see behind the buildings. No point in being sloppy, after all. And when he saw what was behind the house, he was so glad that he had.

Behind the house were at least a dozen cars, all rusty and obviously little-used. Dean shifter closer, leaving the shelter of the trees to get a better look. There were a whole host of different plates, different makes, colours…

Hiding the evidence, Dean realised. Just like those freaks in Indiana, who'd snatched the cars as well as the people, making sure that there wasn't any scrap of evidence left to suggest that they hadn't gone willingly. And there, just between the house and the barn, was the beat up camper-van.

Thank God.

Dean pulled out his pistol. He generally had principles against killing humans, mostly out of a twisted desire to hang onto whatever scraps of his soul remained, but he was more than willing to make an exception in the right circumstances.

Moving as quietly as possible, Dean made his way through the cars to the barn. He'd be more likely to find any people in the house and he'd rather know that the rest of this place was clear before getting into any sort of fight.

The barn door was already ajar and Dean slipped in quickly. The light was fading fast and he considered pulling out his flashlight, but unless he found anything interesting, it didn't much matter if he could see every detail or not.

"…The English, the English, the English are best, I wouldn't pay tuppence for all of the rest…" 

And just like that, Dean knew his people were okay. He'd only ever heard one person sing that song and there was no way Sara would be singing if something had happened to Sam. Following his ears, Dean shouldered a half-rotted door aside. The door creaked loudly and Sara immediately fell silent.

He stepped in the room, his almost-frantic gaze almost passing over the cages entirely in his haste to see the people in them. In the silence, he could hear the slight hitch in Sara's breathing as she switched from hidden fear to getting a grip. Normal people probably couldn't make that distinction, but who cared.

"Took you long enough," Sam said finally and Dean could pretend not to hear the slight shake in his voice.

"Serves you right for getting snatched," he replied, stepping closer. "Dudes, cages?"

"That what he said," Sara said. "Dean, see the pillar? That's some sort of control box on the side."

"Electric locks? Isn't that kinda high-tech for a phantom attacker?" There was a moment of silence, long enough for Dean to look back up from the control box, concerned. "What? What is it?"

"Um, we weren't taken by a phantom attacker per se," Sara said, clearly embarrassed.

"You don't mean…" Dean trailed off, grinning despite himself when Sammy couldn't even met his eye. "You were jumped by humans?"

"Dean, if you don't shut it, I'll be forced to tell your impressionable little brother about that waitress in DC who-"

"Okay, okay!" Dean cut in hurriedly, happier than he'd like to admit at the sight of the grins on Sam's and Sara's faces. "This control thing looks like it needs a key. I'm going to go find it."

"There are at least two freaks out there," Sara said. "They took all our weapons and, for some reason, my jewellery. Which I want back, for the record. But one of the guys is definitely bigger than you, so be careful, alright?"

"Hey, it's me," Dean said with a grin. "What could go wrong?"

xxx

His carefree, cocky persona faded as soon as he was out of the barn. Shit-loads could go wrong, he knew that better than most people, and he wasn't exactly in the mood to put up with any bullshit.

But challenging these bastards or their demonic master could wait until Sam and Sara were out of those cages and armed with something big and destructive. And to do that, he needed the key.

Which would, in all likelihood, be somewhere in the house, if you could call that building a house.

Dean had spotted the trapdoor into the basement on his way to the barn. The door was chained shut, but the chain was old and rusted and gave way easily enough. Torch in one hand, colt in the other, Dean headed down the steps, trying not to think about what the dark stains on them were from.

But that turned out to be one hell of a wasted effort when he saw what was actually in the basement. Once, when Dean couldn't have been more than about eight, they'd stayed for a few days with a hunter. Dean couldn't remember what the guy's name had been, or why they'd stayed there, but he remembered the trophies that had littered the house. Vampire fangs, the hand of a Wendigo, even a stuffed Black Dog's head. They had been creepy as hell and they were just from the things that Dean would happily put a bullet in any day of the week.

He'd never thought he would see trophies taken from humans.

It was nothing too bloodstained or gory, just… trinkets. Watches, some pairs of glasses, some strands of long hair. Not gross, but all the more unsettling for it. The photos didn't help either, the polaroids pinned around the other trophies, two guys standing around a human body. Dean shook his head, disgusted. There were dozens of photos, a different victim in each one.

As he turned to find the stairs, the light from his flashlight glinted on something, the little gleam just visible in the corner of his eye. Dean looked more closely, feeling his chest tighten when he saw the ring. Old gold, some fancy work around the sets of blue and white gems set into it. Sara's ring.

Dean picked it up, sliding it carefully into his pocket.

His people were not prey, they were not trophies and he was damned if these guys would so much as look at either of them again.

When he started up the stairs, his steps were measured, silent, controlled. Hunter-mode, Sam called it, although Dean knew that Hunter-Killer would be more appropriate in some circumstances.

A life dealing with bones, bodies and remains was more than sufficient to tell Dean that the bones used as decoration on the first floor were real human bones. The house itself was unnerving enough, grey wooden walls and floors, dusty old furniture. The damn floorboards looked like the sort that would creak if he moved too fast, so Dean moved carefully over to the huge dresser.

There was a small heap of keys, mostly car-keys by the look of them, but Dean's eyes were drawn to the jar next to them, apparently full of… God, teeth. A jar of teeth. From another room, he could hear the sounds of chopping, cutting. And, from somewhere behind him, a floorboard creaked.

Dean spun around, the gun already in his hand.

A kid stared back at him, a little girl with a dirty face and wild hair. He'd never expected to see a kid here.

He saw the necklace she was wearing at the same moment that he caught the flicker in her eyes as she looked behind him.

Dean turned, grabbed the guy who had been sneaking up on him and threw him forward into the kid. The second guy got an elbow in the throat mostly by accident, but he went down with a gurgle, dropping the knife he'd been holding, and Dean wasn't about to argue with that sort of result.

The first man got quickly to his feet and, Jesus Christ, did he have to be even bigger than Sam? But size wasn't everything. Downright fury helped a lot, especially when you'd been fighting long enough for anger to merely add strength rather than to damage your technique.

Dean ploughed into the man, slamming him against the wall before he'd even really regained his balance, and pressed the barrel of his pistol against the man's throat.

"Give me the key to those fucking cages or I pull the trigger," he said, not even having to try to make his voice threatening. It wasn't exactly a threat, after all. More of a promise.

Later, he'd curse himself for not hearing the third man walk up behind him, but that didn't change the fact that he'd been knocked out by a hillbilly with a frying pan. 

xxx

"He should be back by now."

"Since when does your brother do what he's supposed to?"

Sam couldn't help being amused by that, even though the amusement did nothing to stop the worry. "Dean didn't even behave himself when he was hunting with you?"

"Oh, you know your brother. He does what he thinks is right, but damned if I can work out what his criteria are. I just went along with it most of the time."

"Because Dean says so," Sam said idly, shifting in a feeble attempt to get more comfortable.

"Huh?"

"When I was a kid, that was my reason for just about anything. Because Dean says so."

"Stuff like the nutritional value of M&Ms? Why lattes are a girly drink?"

"Pretty much."

They both twisted to face the door when it creaked.

"Remember what we talked about, Sasquatch?" Sara said, low enough that only Sam could hear.

He eyed the two figures standing in the doorway. "Yeah."

One man crossed to the wall-control, flipping the lid open and taking hold of the key. "Try anything," he said to Sara. "And my brother shoots your boy in the head. We clear?"

"You're not taking her anywhere!" Sam snapped, ignoring the rifle trained on him.

"Sam, shut it," Sara said firmly. "It'll be okay."

Sam didn't manage to jerk his fingers back from the bars in time to avoid the rifle butt that was slammed against the metal. Nursing what he really hoped were not broken fingers, he could only watch as Sara edged out of her cage and let one of the man tie her hands behind her back.

Furious, he kicked the cage again. And again and again, but it didn't do a damn thing.

He was the only one left.

xxx

"…sick bastards hunt people, is that it?"

Sara suddenly found she could breathe around the gag again. Being tied up and at the mercy of two psychos wasn't at all comfortable, but just hearing Dean was reassuring.

One of the men walked into the room where Sara knew Dean was, but the other stayed with her, one hand holding her arm.

"We give them a weapon." Sara didn't recognise that voice, but given the circumstances, it could only be an enemy. "Give them a fighting chance."

Sara heard Dean's unmistakeable snort, followed by, "Yeah, a five foot chick against two guys. Unless you give her a Uzi, that's hardly fair."

"She's a real hellcat, boy. Gave my son one hell of a bruise."

"A paper bag could bruise those freaks of yours," Dean replied. He had never learnt not to bait the homicidal bastards. Idiot.

"Maybe. I'll admit my boys have been a little sloppy about all this. And if you tracked us down, then someone else could too. And I can't be having with that."

Sara's guard shoved her forward. She ended up on her knees, off balance without her hands free to steady her. Looking up, she gave Dean a single glance before starting to glare at the speaker.

"Do we look like we give a fuck what you can put up with?" she said.

"You will, sweetheart," he replied, not at all concerned. "Boys, go fetch the other one."

Dean caught Sara's eye, nodded fractionally, so Sara shifted her weight equally fractionally. Whatever came next, she'd be ready. Another minute gesture – there was someone behind her. Fine. She could deal with one person. But they were too close. They'd see what she was up to. Right. One distraction, coming up.

"As I was telling your boy here, miss," the man said, gesturing with one filthy hand towards Dean. "The Hunt is my family's tradition. Now, I promised my boys one last hunt before the end of our season, so that's what they're going to get. A man has to keep his promises."

"Inspiring moral stance you've got there, really," Sara said, being as bitchy as she possibly could. "You should write a book. Provided, of course, that you can actually read-"

The backhand wasn't at all unexpected, but Sara let it knock her backwards. With her hands now hidden from sight, her insane plan just might work. If she was supremely lucky, that was.

"We're having a hunt tonight," the man said. "And you get to pick the animal, mister. The boy or the girl."

"Fuck you, man."

There was a small knife by the doorjamb. Sara could just see it out of the corner of her eye. If she could get her hands free, she'd be able to reach it. Just a few more moments…

"You're not going to touch either of them ever again," Dean continued. "You know why?"

There. Sara swung herself across the floor, grabbing the knife and getting back on her feet. The person behind her was a kid, but Sara seized the girl anyway, pulling her close with the knife pressed against her throat. Any kid wearing Sara's own damn necklace wasn't an innocent bystander in this.

"Because we're way better at this than you'd think," Dean finished, answering his own question.

"Now you're going to untie Dean before I have to do something that I really won't regret," Sara said.

The man smirked at her. "I said you were a fighter, miss. That don't mean you're a killer. You wouldn't hurt my Missy, let alone kill her."

Sara spared Dean another glance. The knife in her hand was one of her own, and that meant one thing: perfect balance. "You're right. I don't murder children."

She threw the knife, trusting her abilities enough to take her eyes off the man for the seconds it took to ram the kid's head against the wall. The girl slumped to the ground, unconscious. Sara reached down

"Bastards like you are fair game though," she said, straightening up.

The man was on the floor, the knife protruding from one of his eyes. He wouldn't be hunting – or hurting – anyone else. Sara crossed to Dean's side, keeping him between her and the body, and started work on the knots. Unlike the idiot who had tied up her, whoever had done this had known what they were doing. But it was still just rope and knots and Dean was free quickly enough.

"Right," he said, shaking feeling back into his hands. Sara stood back so he could get past her to the dresser, where his gun and knives were waiting. "Where's Sammy?"

"In the barn with the two guys who snatched us. They should be bringing him here."

Sara retrieved her throwing-knife, wiping the man's blood off on his jacket. There was a set of handcuffs on the old man's belt and Sara grabbed them, tossing them to Dean. By the time the girl was firmly cuffed to an ancient-looking pipe, Sara had found her own pistol.

Without a single backwards glance, the two hunters ran for the front door. They had one more person to save.

xxx

"Told you we didn't need to hurry," Sara said, looking at Sam's handiwork appreciatively.

Dean was feeling pretty impressed with his little brother as well, he had to admit. Having dashed into the barn, perfectly ready to fight and kill to protect Sammy, he'd been thrown a little to find Sam calmly locking the two freaks into their own cages.

"What are we going to do with them?" Sam asked.

"We can set the police on them," Sara suggested. "There's evidence of what these bastards have been doing all over the place."

"We could just…" Dean stopped when Sam looked at him. He could say it, sure, and if he said it loud enough, he knew that the others would let him. Sometimes, the hunters had to be the executioners. Werewolves couldn't exactly be tried in a court of law. But these guys were human. Their crimes couldn't be blamed on lunar cycles or ancient hoodoo. And Dean wasn't about to waste his soul on them.

"Never mind. Let's just get the hell out of here," he said finally, earning a small smile from his brother.

They walked out of the barn together, Dean firmly between Sam and Sara. He wasn't letting either of them out of his sight until they were out of the damn state. But it was over. They'd beaten the bad guys, even if it was kinda weird that they'd actually been guys for once, and they'd all survived. That counted as a win, as far as Dean was concerned.

Just as the Impala came into view, Dean's watch beeped softly. Midnight. Oh, yeah. He'd nearly forgotten that. Grinning, Dean slung an arm around Sara's shoulders.

"Happy birthday, Sara."

xxx

There'd only been one motel room available when Dean had checked in the day before. At the time, he really hadn't been thinking about things like sleeping arrangements, but one bed for three people really didn't work.

But Sara had solved that problem by dozing off on the couch and the Winchester brothers had quite literally grown up sharing beds. There were advantages to being frickin' exhausted, and the ability to sleep anywhere was one of them. Once Dean was satisfied that everyone was okay, he fell face-first onto the bed.

When Dean woke up again, it was still dark, and Sam was still dead to the world, his busted hand curled protectively against his chest. Dean rolled carefully onto his side again, facing the door, and frowned when he realised it was open. Just a crack, but still.

Dean slipped out of bed silently, checking the couch as he went. No Sara, but he could see her through the gap in the door. He yanked it open a little further to glare at her.

"-learn the damn time difference, would you? Or at least wait 'til you've got something interesting to tell me," Sara said, grinning at Dean. Adrian, she mouthed. "Now, see what you did. You woke up Deanie-freak."

And then she had to hold the phone away from her ear as Adrian told her, loudly and at length, just how little he cared.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I get the message, okay? Gotta go." She folded the phone shut and gave Dean a smile. "Sorry. Didn't mean to worry you."

"How come you weren't all that surprised when we found out that those bastards weren't under the influence of anything?"

Sara leant against the Impala, giving Dean a look he hadn't seen for a while. It was the one she wore when trying to figure out if he really was that dumb. "Seriously? The world is going to hell in a hand-basket and you're worried 'cause some twisted freaks were running around eating people?"

"You mean you're not worried by that? I've seen stuff that would freak Dracula out and even I think this was just… twisted. Demons, I'm used to. But people…"

"Come on, Dean. Those guys were no more human than a demon. Whatever happens to them, they deserve it. And once the police have got everything they need from that farm, I'm going to burn the place to the ground."

Dean nodded. So many people had died there that the place was always going to be a hotspot for bad vibes and evil creatures. Cleansing the site would help, at least a little. "I can get one of the other guys to handle it, if you want."

"There aren't that many people left who could do this. Hell, I don't think I could do it alone." Sara frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe Smithy. He's still got his partner, last I heard."

"Who's Smithy?"

"Another ex-pat, like me. Decent hunter, damn good at the freaky stuff. Truly atrocious liar. Dean, can I ask you a favour?"

"Sure. What?"

"I want you and Sam to fade out of the hunting scene for a while. Don't go near anyone you know, any place you've been before. Cal's agreed to set up a few ammo dumps and you can keep hunting to your heart's content. But I don't want you or Sam anywhere near any hunter, any hunter's place, any of it."

"Sara, what's going on?"

Before she replied, Sara crossed to her truck, unlocking the door to retrieve a slim folder. "This is stuff I've put together over the last month or so." She pulled out a map, one of the single-page ones that covered the whole of America. "Here, here and… here, I've caught hints of demonic possessions."

Dean looked closer, knowing full-well that Sara wouldn't be showing this to him unless there was some point. "Hang on. Hang on; we were there. And there. And…"

"You see my problem. Similar omens have been popping up around any place hunters are known to congregate. Libraries, safe-havens, dealers, all of them. Last week, I exorcised a demon from a hunter. A hunter, Dean. That hasn't happened since before my mother died."

"So what do we do?"

"Right now, our only plan is to scatter. Drop off the radar in every way imaginable and a few ways we just make up."

"I'm not really one for running, Sara."

"Well, it's more hiding than running, technically speaking. Look, Dean, I'm not exactly thrilled about this either. It's my job to track these demonic fuckers down, not let them stalk my people." Sara tucked the papers back into their folder and shoved the whole thing towards him. "Bobby took a look at all of this for me and he spotted something I didn't. Most of these demons aren't going after just any old hunter. Most of them are targeting places or people that have a connection to your father. They only get near you when you're on a hunt that John gave you, that thing in Indiana, the haunted asylum…"

"So whatever Dad's doing, they don't like it?" Dean grinned. "That makes me feel better. You know, apart from the demonic hordes that are chasing him." Sara's return smile was too brief to be real and Dean nudged her. "He can take care of himself, you know."

"Yeah, he's Rambo," Sara said sarcastically. "And I'm not all that worried about your father, Dean. Demons aren't known for their patience, and once they'd bored of chasing John, they'll find another way to smoke him out."

"Such as by going after me or Sam?"

"Yeah. Going after the family is a time-honoured, disgusting tradition. And I think it might be the reason that your dad left you."

Dean nodded. "Do you think this means that Dad's getting close to the demon? I mean, they must really want him to stop whatever it is he's doing."

"God, I should've known that you'd be one of those prats who believed in that whole, 'if someone's trying to kill you, you must be doing your job properly' thing."

"Something's always trying to kill me. It's part of the job, you know that. So," Dean said, giving Sara another nudge. "What do you want to do on your birthday?"

Sara laughed. "I tell you that we have demons stalking us and trying to kill us and you still want to-"

"Yep. So tell me what you want to do."

"I… I want to spend time with my friend. Like things were still normal. Like none of this was happening."

"Okay, then. That's what we'll do. And, in that spirit, I'm going to throw you back into the room now. What is with you and middle-of-the-night conversations, anyway? It's not like…"

With a groan, Sara shoved him back through the door, back into the room.


	9. Chapter 9

9xxx  
22nd September, 2005,

Hunting was never exactly a slow business, but these last few months had just been ridiculous. Ever since Chicago, the Winchesters had been practically hunted by their own profession.

To be honest, Sam would never be sure if this was part of some evil demonic scheme to stop them from finding their father again or if it was simply the result of Dean being so keen to kill something. Either way, though, the result was the same. Two months of non-stop hunting, not a single false lead and no sign of it ever stopping. And it wasn't just affecting the Winchesters. They'd hadn't seen Sara since she stitched them both up after Chicago, Joshua was still tracking something down in Mexico and Caleb had hard-pressed to keep everyone supplied with enough bullets to last them the next hunt.

But they couldn't do anything about it. As far as Sam knew, there was no ultimate source for all of the supernatural crap that floated around the world. Without a source, there was no way to cut the supply off, so they just had to deal, one hunt at a time.

"So, Florida or Nebraska?" he asked.

"Dude, could you have picked more random states?"

He grinned at his brother. "Right now, there's something evil in any state you want to name, Dean. I could probably find us a hunt in Timbuktu at the moment. But we can get ammo from the cache Caleb put together in Southern Nebraska and Luke has some new charms for us in Florida, so…"

"Right. In that case, Nebraska. Fighting without some piece of hoodoo crap is way easier than fighting without bullets." Dean paused. "Did you ever tell me what else was in Nebraska?"

"Unicorns."

A paper aeroplane hit Sam on the back of his head, not really a surprise. Sam made sure to unfold the thing before tossing it, just to make sure Dean hadn't used something important to make it. That wouldn't be much of a surprise, either.

"Mysterious deaths, same as always," Sam said and pointed at a bundle of paper on the table. "That pile, if you want more details. Dean, since when did you think it was a good idea to use Maxwell's prophecies to make projectiles?"

"It's not like that stuff makes any sense," Dean protested. "Besides, we have about six copies of the stupid thing."

"True." Sam let his eyes drift over the page of incoherent ramblings, most of it written in some form of code. He'd tried to make sense of it dozens of times, but whatever information Maxwell had had seemed to have died with him.

But was that… Sam tried to smooth out the page, frowning. "Dean, do you know anything about Jamestown?"

"What, is college-boy asking me for help?"

"Jamestown, Wyoming. It's mentioned here three times."

"Wyoming?" Dean repeated. "That's not the future, Sam. That's the past. A year or so ago, Dad sent me and Sara there."

"What was there?"

"A pissed-off spirit who couldn't tell the difference between a psychic and the anti-christ. It took Sara, I got her back and then we killed it. Why do you want to know?"

"There's a list of places here. Lawrence, Kansas, Jamestown, Wyoming, and then Saginaw, Michigan."

"So Maxwell thought that there was a connection between the nursery fires and what happened in Jamestown?"

"You did say that the ghost had a thing for psychics. Visions and telekinesis would fit in that category, wouldn't they?" Sam frowned slightly, rubbing his temples. "Any chance Sara knows more about Jamestown?"

"Maybe. She might not want to talk about it, though, Sammy. It wasn't exactly an easy hunt."

"Are they- Are they ever-"

The shock of the vision sent him crashing to the floor, books and papers scattering around him.

"Sammy, Sammy!"

_She walked through the sewers, trying hard not to breathe through her nose. With her free hand, the one not holding the sword, she swiped the blood away from her face, the ring on her finger glinting in front of her eyes for a second-_

"Dean, I-"

_- Hands around her throat, black eyes_ _staring down at her. She lashed out, too slow, too weak, and the demon just grinned. _

_"Not so tough, are you, Lucian?"_

"Sam! Answer me, damnit."

He reached out blindly, one hand fisting in Dean's shirt. "We have to go. Have to go."

"Where? Go where, Sam?"

_-Bottle of holy water, leaking over the floor, just out of reach of her fingers. Tears burning her eyes, fear, pain, shame. Regret. So many regrets. _

"Sara." He forced the word out, or he thought he did. Hoped he did. "It's Sara."

"Where is she?"

_-Vision dimming, blurring, her body beyond the ability to struggle, lacking the oxygen to do anything but die, die and regret._

Dean shook him. "You have to tell me where she is, I don't know! Sam!"

"Underground. Underground and… demons. Hunting a demon." The vision finally faded, leaving him with little more than an aching throat. "City, maybe. She was pissed off, but maybe that was because she was in a sewer."

"You… you know she was pissed off?" Dean asked, pausing in his search for his phone. He didn't need to question the link between that and a city; for a kid born and raised in London, Sara had a real hatred of urban centres.

"I… was her. Which is really weird." Sam rubbed his throat. "Call Sara already."

"No point. If she's that close to a demon, she won't pick up. But Bobby always knows where Sara is."

"Bobby Singer? Didn't he want to shoot Dad?"

"This isn't about Dad, Sam, this is about Sara." Despite that, Dean barely took his eyes off his brother as he dialled the right number and gave the Bobby the barest bones of information.

The last time Sam had had a vision, he'd been too late to save anyone. Then, he'd asked Dean what the point was, why he could see the future but not stop it. He'd never got a real answer for that, but he had got the message that Dean didn't care and that was more than enough.

But he had the feeling that if this turned out to be the universe's sick way of making Dean be just a little too late to save his best friend, neither of them would ever get over it.

Bobby Singer, as promised, did know exactly where Sara was. He was also very used to frantic calls for information and Dean had the location in a matter of minutes.

"She's less than an hour away," Sam said as they grabbed their bags. Dean would already have worked that out, of course. But they had no idea about when Sara would go after the demon, or if they were already too late.

"Let's go."

xxx

Sara had given up on renting motel rooms when hunting demons. It was a waste of both time and money, and which she could live with the latter, the former wasn't really an option anymore. It was easier, when she was this close to a demon, to keep her weapons close, her supplies to hand, her custom-made combat vest on under her jacket.

Easier, but not easy. Just like everything else in her screwed-up little world.

Leaving the truck parked behind the hopefully abandoned warehouse, Sara allowed herself one last check of her equipment before easing herself through a broken window. If she was reading the omens right, there was at least one demon in this place, maybe two.

Her mother, in more than two decades of exorcisms, had never had to deal with more than one demon at a time. Amelia Lucian had barely believed that it was possible for there to be more than one possession in America at any given time. If that was true, Sara's life would be a lot less interesting. It would also probably end up being considerably longer, but she wasn't going to think about that.

Two demons. She could handle that.

After all, it wasn't like there was any other option right now.

Right, she had just about everything she needed. A second exorcist would be nice, but Sam wasn't ready for this kind of work, not yet, and exorcisms like this were just about the only thing that Bobby Singer couldn't do in his sleep. But she had Holy Water, chrism oil, some salt, the newly-healed anti-possession tattoo on her back. And, just in case she got cornered, a sword and her colt revolver. A bullet wouldn't do much to actually stop a demon, but having it was a comfort in itself.

Sara hesitated for a moment before leaving her phone in the truck, but the thing had died on her the day before. Better to just leave it here, charge it once she was done. The distraction of a ring-tone at the wrong moment could all too easily get her killed so it wasn't a great loss.

There was a ladder bolted to the wall, leading to the roof, and Sara climbed up it as fast as she could. On the roof, she found the water tank and a hatch with a half-rusted lock.

Smiling, Sara pulled a rosary out of her pocket. She loved it when she could reuse old tricks.

xxx

Less than an hour later, Dean brought the Chevy to a screeching halt, just shy of the truck. The two brothers took a second to load themselves up with shotguns and salt-shells, working silently but in perfect synch.

Patience was never a virtue in situations like these, but there was a difference between _fast_ and _reckless_, and Dean had no intention of being the latter. He was going to be controlled, methodical, and if Sara had been hurt, he was going to kill every last demon he could lay his hands on.

The door to the warehouse was unlocked and Sam eased it open, careful of any noise it might make. The two brothers slipped through the door, Dean just a little ahead of Sam, and it was more than a little typical that the first thing they saw was a body.

The body was clearly male though, and Dean saw Sam relax just a fraction. The rough devil's trap, half-hidden by the body, told him more clearly than anything else that Sara had been here. Normal people got to recognise handwriting; he could tell the difference between Sam's and Sara's protective symbols.

But there was no other sign of Sara, no obvious sign of any sort of real battle either.

"Sam, any of this look familiar?" he asked.

"No. But… but she was underground, right?"

"Right." Dean looked around, trying to shake off the faint beginnings of real concern. "There."

The hatch was open, a broken chain wrapped around its handle. The smell coming up from it let Dean know that they definitely had the right place; the smell of a sewer was always pretty memorable.

In the sewer, there was a faint blood smear on the wall, some faint traces of sulphur. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to go on.

And there was something wrong here. Sewers weren't silent, not with all the dodgy pipes and the friggin' rats, but there was something else just on the edge of Dean's hearing, and judging from the way Sam was tilting his head, he could hear it too. Trusting his instincts, Dean started to move faster. Quick but quiet, one of the most useful skills he'd ever learnt.

He saw the demon before he saw Sara, and that was probably a good thing. Dean leapt forward, grabbing the man's jacket and yanking him backwards, shoving him away as hard as he could.

The demon spun to face him, black eyes flashing in the poor light. It had barely taken a step forward when Sam shot the damn thing. Conventional bullets didn't work particularly well against demons, but it turned out that they weren't too fond of salt-shells. Dean shot it once more in the back as it hurried away, just for good measure. Demons weren't normally that nice about backing down, and it would almost certainly be back, but

Sara was already pushing herself to her feet, but she swayed slightly and both Winchesters hastily reached out to steady her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she muttered, sounding as battered as she looked.

"Saving you. And in that spirit, time to go."

xxx

Three hours later, in a different state, Dean stopped the Impala on a deserted back road. Sara was pale and unusually silent as they waited for Sam to catch up in Sara's truck, but Dean figured she was entitled. Needing to be rescued was always embarrassing for a hunter. Sam turned up twenty minutes later, unhappily unpursued and with food, much to Dean's pleasure, and Sara still hadn't spoken. Aside from the apparent air of imminent doom, it felt almost normal to be eating in the middle of nowhere, Sam sitting on the Impala's hood, Dean and Sara sitting on the truck bed.

But finally Sara handed her burger, untouched, to Dean. "Not to sound ungrateful, but mind telling me how you boys just happened to be in just the right spot to save my life?"

Dean looked at Sam and shrugged. When Sam nodded, albeit reluctantly, he turned back to Sara. "Sammy boy here has visions. He saw you being killed by that demon."

"O…-kay." Sara nodded. "Visions. Right. Are you sure?"

Sam nodded. "Visions. Of the future. Well, of people dying horribly."

"And you saw me die. When?"

"A few hours ago."

Sara frowned. "You deciphered a vision in a few hours? It took Maxwell days, even when he'd been having them for years." She paused. "You haven't been having them for years, have you?"

"Less than a year," Sam corrected. "And you're pretty recognisable, Sara, so are demons. There wasn't much ambiguity."

"Wait, you mean you saw me die? Like a film or something?"

"What's wrong?" Dean asked. He knew the difference between a surprised Sara and a shocked Sara, after all.

"Maxwell was the strongest Seer I've ever heard of , we've been spending the last year trying to decipher his stuff and when Sam sees the future clear as day, you don't find anything weird about that?" She smacked his arm. "You complete prat!"

"Isn't that how visions work?" Sam asked.

"No idea. Seers – that kind of Seer, anyway – are extremely rare. Maxwell wasn't just the strongest Seer I knew; he was the only one. But he told me that his visions could take weeks to interpret. It wasn't nearly as clear as yours seem to be. And then we have to ask where this power came from. Psychic powers of any kind tend to be either genetic or the result of some great trauma at a young age."

"Like that kid in Wisconsin."

"And Pastor Jim. Missouri's a genetic freak, like my grandmother. But your father's about as psychic as a brick."

"Does the father pass on the psychic gene?"

"Maybe. There's never been any real research into it. My mother thought it had to come from both parents. Like red hair," she said, smiling faintly. "Either way, I don't think we're looking for a genetic source here. Otherwise Dean would have it, as well."

"And I'm also 'about as psychic as a brick', right?"

"Yep. Which means we're looking for trauma. And with you, Sam, we really don't need to look very far. But… Um, basically, I think you're too powerful for trauma to be the cause. It takes time, whole generations, for psychic abilities to get beyond the déjà vu stage." She rubbed her throat, now covered in handprint-shaped bruises. "Mind you, right now, I honestly don't care if you can make ghosts knit with the power of your mind. I owe you one, Sasquatch."

"You tell us all the bad stuff and then you say you don't care?" Dean said, pretending to be affronted. "By the way, little Lucian, how did that demon get the drop on you? Were you just not expecting the second one?"

"I wasn't expecting the third one," Sara said, letting the implications sink in. It didn't take long. "What part of 'mass demon exodus to earth' didn't you understand, Dean?" she snapped when he started to complain. "I've kicked more possessions to Bobby and Sam than I dealt with personally in an average year when we worked together. And I really don't have time to fight with you about this."

"So make time! You do not go after multiple demons alone! Even if we can't exorcise them, we can still back you up."

"You really can't, Dean. Three more hunters are dead. The demons aren't just out for blood, they're out for total annihilation and you guys are Hell's Most Wanted. I'm not dangling you in front of a demon. No matter how annoying you are."

"Remind me why we saved her again," Dean said to Sam, grinning as Sara tried to shove him off her truck.

"Because I wanted to ask her about Jamestown."

"Figures. No one ever wants me for my sparkling conversation." Sara leant over to pinch the last of Dean's French fries. "What did you want to know?"

"Maxwell seemed to think there was some connection between what happened to our family and what happened in Jamestown."

Sara nodded slowly. "Wow. That's… that might not be a good thing, boys. The ghost in Jamestown was going after psychics. I mean, he was insane, but he was convinced that something was coming and that it was connected to me in some way. But if we assume that he was after you rather than me…"

"Then the demon that Dad's after might be after me as well?" Sam asked.

"Could kinda make sense," Dean said. "I mean, the son of a bitch did target you twice."

"Or it could just be because your dad's doing his kamikaze thing," Sara added. "By the way, does the phrase 'yellow eyes' mean anything to you two?"

"Nope. Where'd you get that from?"

"One of the demons."

"You interrogate them now?" Dean asked, surprised. Interrogating demons was nasty and generally fatal for the host.

"Come on, Dean. You know me better than that." Sara shrugged. "They're more talkative than they used to be, that's all. Lots of propaganda, mentions of rivers of blood and the occasional useful tidbit."

"Which category does 'yellow eyes' fit in? Is it another demon?"

"I don't think so. Demons have black or red eyes, normally. I've never heard of a demon with yellow eyes. For all I know, the thing was talking about its pet hellcat or something." Sara hopped down from the truck bed, stretching until her spine cracked. "Thanks once again, Sasquatch. I'd better get after those two demons."

Without complaint, Dean slid off the truck bed, but he reached out to grab Sara's sleeve. "Will you be okay driving with the fallout?"

"That, my favourite American, is the least of my problems right now. Be careful, alright? And if you see your dad," she said, clambering into her truck. "Give him a slap for me, would you?"

Dean watched Sara drive off, standing next to Sam by the Impala. "Your vision. It was just her and a random demon, right?"

"Dude, we saved her this time, alright? Whatever happens next, it's just… situation normal, you know. She can handle herself."

"Yeah. Situation normal, all fucked up."

xxx

It was easy to find a victim. His sister's host, the girl Meg, was attractive with the new blonde hair and tight clothing. She never had any problem getting drivers to stop for her. And when one did, it was the work of a moment for Tom to leap forward, drag the man out of his car and away from the road.

He slit the man's throat even as the idiot begged, and Meg stepped forward to catch his blood in the goblet. It was an old fashioned way of communicating with their Lord, but Azazel was a fan of the old ways.

"Father, Sara Lucian is still alive," Meg said, running her fingers through the blood. "The Winchesters, yes. They knew how to find us."

_Good. It's a pity that they saved the girl, but she'll be taken care of soon enough. _

Tom started to grin. That sounded more promising.

_It's time. Johnny-boy should find the gun soon. When he does, Meg must go to Blue Earth, to that idiotic priest. Tom, go to Kansas. That psychic can see far too much. _

The two demons smiled at each other, eyes black and soulless. They'd been born for this sort of work, and Tom knew they'd both enjoy it.

"Father, what about the Winchesters themselves? And the Lucian girl? When can we kill them?"

_Soon, my daughter. Soon._

xxx

Author's notes: Thus concludes SNAFU. The story will continue in It's the End of the World. Thanks for reading. Please review.


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